Sophomore Slump
by Whirlwind18
Summary: When she was beside him, lovesick and drunk on the smell of his gluey hair and warm skin, she would forget herself. Every doubt she'd ever had, every wall she'd ever hidden behind - they disappeared, if only for a few moments. And she would whisper it as sweetly as she'd written it so many times in her journals in purple ink: 'I love you.' / The HA gang, ages 15-16. Now complete.
1. Summer’s End

Disclaimer: I'm just an obsessive '90s child who happens to have watched every HA episode and listened to every Craig Bartlett interview that ever existed. Plz don't sue me, Nickelodeon. It's not my fault I was born a freak!

* * *

 **Sophomore Slump**

1: Summer's End

Helga Pataki was not happy.

This wasn't unusual, but today her temper was worsening at an exponential rate every minute she spent standing ( _still_ ) in Slausen's, her dirt-encrusted fingernails drumming against the countertop, blonde ponytail still sticky with the remnants of strawberry ice cream some obnoxious toddler had sprayed her with during an earlier temper tantrum. It just had to be _strawberry_ ice cream, didn't it? Now her whole face was probably gonna break out in hives, for God's sake.

The one thing keeping her spirits buoyant enough to stop her from sinking completely was the knowledge that this was, in fact, her last night of the summer on shift. She never had to walk into this Godforsaken parlor again, after tonight. And after more than two months of madness - two months of plastering on fake smiles, of nursing her fingers blistered from scooping frozen desserts for whiny kids and overly giggly teenagers, of crying in the back bathroom in secret more times than she'd ever, ever admit to a single soul out loud - she never wanted to.

"About ready to pack it up, kiddo?" a syrupy voice called out to her from the back of the store. Mr. Slausen emerged from behind the row of commercial freezers, his dark eyes sparkling with some strange wicked humor.

"How many times do I have to ask you not to call me _kiddo_?" Helga snapped. "Yes, Bill, I've been ready to pack it up for three hours."

The elderly man laughed heartily. Helga had long ago guessed that any normal supervisor would have fired her by now, but Bill Slausen was a special kind of weirdo. Even after spending the entire summer working under him, Helga couldn't decide whether to feel offended by his patronizing attitude or grateful that he put up with her sour one at all.

"Well, we can probably wrap up a little early, then," Mr. Slausen told her, looking down at his watch. "It's been a pleasure having you this summer, Helga. I can't thank you enough for all your help."

"Yeah, yeah. Thanks for hiring me and stuff," Helga said, untying the strings of her apron. Just as she was pulling the offensive item off of her chest, the bell above the glass door jingled and two teenagers wandered in, chattering softly.

"So then I said to the waiter, I'm ever so certain you served beef. What I asked for was turkey."

The boy beside Lila Sawyer, his head shaped oddly enough to be spotted a hundred miles away, laughed politely. Helga's stomach dropped so fast she felt sure she was about to vomit. Her knees buckling underneath her, panic bubbling in her stomach like some horrible hot lava, she attempted to dart down underneath the countertop. But it was too late.

"Helga?" came Arnold's inquisitive voice.

"Was that Helga?" Lila echoed.

The fifteen-year-old winced as she grabbed the edges of the counter and slowly stood up again. She could feel her face burning red.

"Oh, uh - hey Arnoldo, sup you guys," she said casually, nodding at the pair.

"You worried me for a moment," Lila told her. "The way you slid down like that, I thought you might have fainted."

"I dropped a quarter," Helga snarled in response, stomach still roiling.

"I..." Arnold started awkwardly. His own cheeks were flushing, Helga realized, but the source of his sudden stammer was probably the pretty freckle-faced girl at his side - looking sickeningly stunning in a green sundress that hugged her petite figure. "I didn't know you would be on shift this late," he finished.

Helga rolled her eyes. "Well, we were _trying_ to close up here."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Helga!" Lila said immediately. "We'll just be on our way. If you're done working, do you want to join us? I'm certain we'd love to have your company."

"Yeah, we would," Arnold added, but Helga couldn't help but notice that his eyes were suddenly shifting downwards, focusing on the floor.

Helga didn't know how she did it, but she managed to smirk at them. "Well... thanks, you guys. But I don't think so. Too tired. It's been a long day."

"She'll get you some ice cream," Mr. Slausen insisted over her shoulder. "And then we'll close up."

"Alright. You heard the man. What kind'll it be?" Helga asked, staring vacantly beyond the heads of Lila and Arnold and through the glass door. She wished she could dissipate into the sticky August humidity.

"Well, okay, if you're sure," Lila said, offering a winning smile to everyone around her. "I'd love one scoop of strawberry ice cream in a sugar cone."

 _Figures_ , Helga thought darkly.

"And for you, Football Head?"

"Oh, I - uh - I'll just have a scoop of vanilla in a cup. Thanks, Helga."

Helga filled their orders wordlessly, her fingers moving quickly over the cold metal scoop. She prayed to whatever God up above might be listening that neither of them could tell how violently her hands were trembling.

"Have a good night, you two," she called after Mr. Slausen had given Arnold his change. She continued staring through the glass for several moments after they left, watching their retreating figures in the dark until they were completely gone from view.

When she finally whipped around, she found Mr. Slausen staring at her with a sympathetic expression on his face. It was almost like he thought he _knew_ her or what she was feeling, and Helga couldn't stand that. She fought internally against the urge to punch him.

"Take a picture," she mumbled. "It'll last longer."

"I won't ask any questions," he said, taking the balled up apron in her clenched fist.

"Yeah, don't," she muttered in response. The nauseous feeling in her stomach seemed to be clawing its way up her chest and into her throat. She tasted its fiery edges, trying her best to swallow down the bile.

"I hope the school year goes well," he told her.

"Doubt it. See ya around, Bill."

"If you ever need anything," Mr. Slausen said slowly, giving her a salute as she made her way towards the door, "You know where to find me."

* * *

It was already dark outside when Eugene Horowitz rapped on his friend's door. A constellation of stars rimmed the edges of the sky, vague and just barely visible behind the brighter Hillwood lights and skyscrapers.

"Oh, hi, Eugene," the woman who appeared on the front stoop told him. He felt warmth pool in his stomach at the sound of her voice, rich as butter, and the familiar glow in her face. She was wearing a crown of buttercups atop her head of near waist-length graying hair, just as she'd done for as many years back as Eugene could remember. "Sheena, honey!" she called.

Eugene stepped into the front hall, stomping the wet grass from his sneakers. Ann Austin came bounding down the staircase in a flurry, yapping loudly and knocking him over in her enthusiasm. The happy beagle began licking at every inch of skin she could reach.

"Oh, Annie, calm down!" Sheena giggled as she appeared behind them in her cutoff shorts and tank top. "Hi Eugene."

She bent over, collected Annie in her arms, and pulled Eugene up by the hand.

"What are you two doing tonight?" Sheena's mother asked pleasantly.

"Oh, I don't know," Sheena squeaked. "Ice cream? A walk in the park?"

"Yes to both of those," Eugene said, nodding.

Slowly, Sheena made her way to her usual spot next to the open window above the living room couch. She pressed her face to the screen, inhaling the late summer air deeply and inquisitively.

He smiled, having always found comfort in this - the little things she did that seemed to stay the same, forever, despite the shifting torrents of time underneath them.

"It smells fresh," Sheena said decisively in her high-pitched voice. "And cleansing. Let's go, Eugene."

"You two have fun," her mother called behind them, winking as they headed out and down the front steps. The heady August nighttime swirled around him again, adding yet another layer of sweat to his already sticky body.

"What do you think it'll be like, this year?" Sheena mused lightly.

"I don't know," Eugene admitted. "I'm a little bit nervous. But I'm sure it will be fun," he added quickly. "It always turns out okay in the end."

"Yeah," Sheena agreed. "But tenth grade is different than ninth. High school is going to be - you know, real this year. We'll have AP classes. We'll have to start thinking about college soon."

"That's true," Eugene said, shifting on his feet. "But we'll make it. We always do."

There was a pause, thick with the sounds of humming crickets and children bubbling over with their enjoyment of the last night of summer.

"Eugene," Sheena continued hesitantly, "Is something wrong?"

Eugene could feel his stomach dropping, the familiar nauseous feeling he got every time he sat down at the back of a city bus. But he smiled at her uncertainly. "Wrong?" he repeated. "What could be wrong?"

She stopped walking to study him for a moment, her eyes suddenly full of questions that scared him to his core.

"I'm going to audition for the school play," Eugene said hastily, glancing away from her. "This year is my year, I just know it. I'm not going to chicken out again, not like last year."

"Well... that sounds nice."

"It will be nice. Gosh, Sheena, I'm sure it'll be wonderful."

"Eugene, I..." Sheena began, but within a second he was yelping out as he toppled to the ground, his shoelace having caught on the edge of a bump in the sidewalk.

Her fingertips laced with his as she pulled him to his feet - gently, easily, with the fluid motions of someone who had become well-versed in a routine.

"You don't have to lie to me," she said quietly. Her irises pooled with something sweet and calming. "You can tell me if you're scared."

"I know," he told her.

The moon shifted above them, beckoning brightly with the promise of something new. He just hoped he was ready for whatever that might be.

* * *

Rhonda Lloyd had one cheek pressed to the receiver of her phone as she blew gently on her freshly polished nails.

It had been a lovely few months for her. In between visits to Wee Burn Country Club - watching her father play golf along the perfect turf hills, drinking virgin margaritas and diet Cokes with Lorenzo, excelling in her tennis lessons with the true diligence of a Lloyd - she'd still found time to sunbathe at the Hillwood community pool, which, though not without its faults had turned out to be a rather exciting hangout spot. Her skin, naturally milky white, had darkened to a light shade of olive. And now, her pores freshly exfoliated with her favorite Biote Facial Mud, dark locks strengthened to perfection with a hydrating hair mask, and her first-day-of-school outfit finally picked out for the next day, she was feeling ready. Nervous - but ready.

"Nadine, you just wouldn't believe the summer I've had," she mused into the phone. "I know I've called the city pool unhygienic in the past - and it _is_ , Nadine, it is - but if you were there, you'd have seen what I did and you'd have understood. He's gorgeous, completely gorgeous. His name is Samuel - he goes to Hillwood and he's going to be a senior this year... what? Yes, a _senior_."

"What does he look like?" Nadine giggled on the other end.

"Prince Charming," Rhonda told her dreamily. "Tall, dark, and handsome. The most perfect brown eyes and the most shapely arm muscles. And his _abs_. I'm telling you, if it weren't for the awful things the chlorine would have done to my hair, I'd have jumped in and pretended to drown so he could save me."

Nadine laughed. "What a drama queen."

"Of course. How long have you known me, Nadine?" Rhonda asked, now applying her miracle lash growth serum to the corners of her eyelids. "Anyway, he's the most handsome lifeguard you'll ever meet, and I'm going to hang out with him this year."

"How exactly are you going to manage that?"

"Well, I'm friends with him, of course. All his friends, too. Connie, Maria, Emily, Kelly. Emily saw me at the beginning of July and told me I had the cutest bikini in the world, which I did, because it's exclusive Dior. And we just kind of, you know, became friends from there. I had a Fourth of July soirée and they were _flattered_ that I invited them."

"Oh," Nadine said. "Well, that sounds fun, I guess." There was a touch of something low and deflated in her voice. But it wasn't as though Rhonda could help it that her best friend had opted to go away to some freaky insectology boot camp in the woods for the entire summer. If Nadine had been in Hillwood, of course, then she'd have been invited to the party, too.

"How were the... bugs?" Rhonda asked hesitantly.

"Fantastic," Nadine gushed. Rhonda's heart warmed as she heard the enthusiasm spilling suddenly from her friend's voice like a jumble of light beams. "It was like being in heaven, I swear. So many rare species and breeds. Plus, I've just never been around so many people who love the same thing that I do," she added.

"That's great," Rhonda told her.

"Man, Rhonda, you should see the legs on a long horned orb weaver."

"It sounds..." Rhonda attempted, but trailed off, unable to find an appropriate word.

"I can't wait to show you all the pictures in my journal."

"Were there any cute boys?"

"Not everything is about boys, you know," Nadine retorted, but then giggled again. "Yeah, there were a few."

"And did anything... you know... happen?"

Nadine sighed. "Not to me. I mean, this one kid had a crush on me, but it wasn't really the kind of thing I wanted to... um... act on."

Rhonda screwed the cap decisively back onto her eyelash serum and began running her paddle brush through the ends of her hair. "Well, that's understandable. I didn't really picture a bunch of hotties at insect camp, to be honest. Except for you, of course."

"Right."

"Anyway, that's what new school years are for."

"Yeah, and learning is just a silly little byproduct," Nadine snorted sarcastically.

"I am so excited to see you tomorrow," Rhonda told her. "You have no idea, Nadine. I missed you so much."

"Me too."

"Well, we better get to bed soon. We both need our beauty sleep."

"For sure," Nadine agreed. "See you tomorrow."

Hanging up the phone and returning the brush to her vanity dresser, Rhonda took a moment to breathe deeply - five meditative breaths, in and out, in and out. Just like Lorenzo had taught her. It was going to be a good school year, indeed.

* * *

 **Author's** **Note** : this fic is not AU, in the sense that it takes the events of The Jungle Movie into account (which will become evident in the coming chapters).

I meticulously outlined and planned this story for months, which is more than I can say about most things I do in life. It's longer than anything I've ever written before, and I'm sticking with it until it's done. If you want to review the first chapter, I'd love that. Just… no pointless flames, if you can help it? That makes my heart hurt. Thank you and much love to you 3.


	2. Back to the Start

**Author's Note** : Thank you for the supportive reviews. It is so, so appreciated. This chapter is a lot of backstory on Helga's part, which I feel is necessary to the plot.

To the guest reviewer who asked me if I could go easy on the curse words - your review was so lovely and I was so happy to receive it. But there are definitely some profanities in here, and I hope it doesn't bother you too much. It's just the way I see a fifteen-year-old Helga talking. She's a fiery girl who likes to get her point across, after all.

Also, a general warning - this story touches on adult themes, including self-harm, depression, some underage drinking later on, etc. I really love these characters, and made decisions for each based on what I felt they might struggle with as they evolve and grow. I hope that none of the darker themes come across as gratuitous, because my intent is always to stay true to the core of what they are on the show first and foremost.

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2: Back to the Start

Helga cursed under her breath as she stomped the dirt from her sneakers on the front mat. She had spent a good couple of hours sulking in an alleyway after her shift ended, and by the time she started to head home it had begun to rain, soaking her from the roots of her blonde hair to the bottoms of her socks. Her father sat in the armchair in the living room in his boxers, face glowing in the flickering light of the TV screen.

"Oh, Maria, why'd you have to do it?" Bob cried mournfully to the television, tossing several handfuls of popcorn into his mouth. "Have some dignity. He would've married you, but now that you've gone and completely degraded yourself..."

Wriggling her feet out of her drenched sneakers, she made out the shape of her mother on the couch beside him, lying on her back and snoring, as per usual. The rain picked up even more heavily outside, making the screen door shake and rattle on its hinges. The sky behind her lit up bottle green and yellow with lightning.

"Oh for crying out loud, shut that door, would ya?" Bob yelled out to her. " _Maria_ , no!"

Helga glared at him as she slammed the front door shut behind her. "Work was just peachy, Bob," she muttered. "Thanks for asking."

"Oh, no, no, no." He clasped his hands to his face, unable to tear his eyes away from the screen. "What kind of a tramp have you turned into?"

Helga stormed up the stairs, shivering slightly. Her room was a tornado of items - bras and shorts strewn haphazardly every which way, wire hangers digging into the rug. She peeled off her wet clothes and threw herself onto the bed in her underwear, moisture seeping from her skin into the blankets below her. Her fingers began dialing the number on her phone almost automatically.

"Come on Curly, pick up," the teenager found herself mumbling somewhat fretfully. "Pick _up_." Just when she'd given up hope, he answered on the fourth ring, voice slightly hoarse.

"Yeah?"

"It's me. Can you get your butt over here?"

"Here? Where's here?" he asked. His voice sounded muffled with exhaustion, as though she'd woken him up.

" _Here_ , my house."

"And I guess the fact that it's practically midnight and the first day of school is tomorrow shouldn't be an issue?" he said skeptically, sounding vaguely more awake now. Helga rolled her eyes.

"What difference does it make? You're _Curly_. You've spent the last fifteen years having emotional breakdowns in class, throwing dodgeballs at people's heads, and setting giraffes free to rampage through Hillwood. You're gonna be unstable tomorrow whether or not you get the extra hour of sleep."

The maniacal laughter that bubbled from the other end was comforting in its familiarity. "Giraffes don't rampage. They gallop. They're graceful. Ballerinas of the savanna, some would say."

"C'mon," she replied impatiently. "Just bring your sleeping bag and clothes for tomorrow and spend the night on my floor. Please?"

The call ended instantly, signaling to Helga that Curly was on his way - he wasn't big on the normal forms of salutations, like hellos or goodbyes.

Not many people knew about, let alone understood, her friendship with Thaddeus Curly Gammelthorpe. It had begun when they were thirteen and, after facing yet another not-so-kind-or-thoughtful public rejection at the hands of one Rhonda Wellington Lloyd, Curly came racing out of the middle school and collapsed behind a circle of trash cans on the sidewalk, in the process falling directly on top of an unsuspecting Helga. She had barely had the chance to fumblingly slip her locket back inside her shirt before he was throwing his arms around her neck, blubbering and wailing incoherently about the woes of unrequited love, how Rhonda just didn't _understand_ how much he adored her, how unfair it all was. Helga had no choice in the matter. She found herself patting him awkwardly on top of the head, rendered somehow incapable of shoving him off of her as she would have done anyone else.

It wasn't long after that that they discovered they shared another thing in common, beyond their freakish tendencies when it came to their love interests: an alcoholic parent. In Curly's case, his hulking, husky-voiced bully of a father, who would say any number of horrible things to his son once he was a few beers deep.

"He showed up with _Lila_?" Curly repeated twenty minutes later. He was sitting on Helga's rug with his knees pressed to his chest, mop of dark hair matted to his forehead with rainwater. "He actually showed up at Slausen's with Lila?"

"Yup."

"Well, what'd they do?"

"What do you think they did?" she demanded. "They ordered ice cream."

"Were they on a _date_?"

"It sure looked like one. I already texted Pheebs and told her to scrape all the details out of Geraldo that she could. No final word yet."

"Man, Arnold can be a real douchebag, huh?"

This was one of Helga's favorite things about Curly: he didn't mince words, and he never tried to talk her out of it when she was angry. Like her, he was explosive and emotional and - whether reasonable or not - it provided her with a sense of satisfaction, a feeling that she'd been vindicated.

"Yeah, tell me about it," she said bitterly.

"I mean, think about it," he continued, his voice taking on the slightly fevered edge it often did when he was piecing together a story, or more often, a conspiracy theory. "Out of all the places they could've gone, why'd they have to pick Slausen's? What'd he _say_?"

"He said, 'I didn't know you'd be on shift this late,'" she chose to make her voice as nasally as she could muster in a scathing imitation of Arnold. "Yeah, good one, Hair Boy."

"Of _course_ he knew," Curly agreed heatedly, throwing up his arms for dramatic effect. "You've only been working there the entire summer."

"Hey," Helga said suddenly, staring at his wrists in the air. "What's that?"

He blinked at her before dropping his arms. "What's what?"

"That." She slid off of her bed and grabbed him by the forearm. The sharp, bruising red cuts were fresher than the scars he'd had just the week before. Curly pulled away from her hastily, but it was too late. Helga bit down hard on her lower lip. "Are you trying to kill yourself, or what?"

"No," he said quickly.

"Well, it kinda looks like you are."

"Look, it's just been a stressful week, what with my mom suddenly coming home again from Montana and all."

"Your mom came home again?" she asked in surprise.

"Yeah. But then she re-left. She left, then she came back, and then she was gone... again. Looks like it's just me and my dad for now."

"Oh." Helga rubbed her own arm tentatively. "That really sucks."

"Yeah, it does."

"Listen," she told him, staring as hard as she could into the dark wells of his eyes. "Next time, just call me, alright? I thought you were gonna stop doing this. I can't have you bleeding to death, or I'd probably have to end it all, too."

"I will," he promised. He began unrolling his sleeping bag, smoothing out the nylon material across the floor. He'd brought along a humongous thermos of water and a bag of trail mix, too. "Emergency rations," he explained casually upon catching sight of Helga's raised eyebrow.

"Guess we better get to sleep soon," Helga told him. "School's gonna be a total disaster."

She climbed back into her bed and turned out the lights, encasing them in darkness.

* * *

Truthfully, she couldn't be sure when everything had turned to shit. Looking back on it, she thought - maybe it always _was_ shit, even if she had been too blind to see it.

All those years ago now, when her Football Head, her light, her forever love, had finally seemed to reciprocate her feelings - after the eight years of childhood she'd spent pining away in the shadows - the feeling blew everything else away. Before that, she'd lived her whole life as a series of alternating angry tirades and secret reveries, dreams she didn't believe in her heart of hearts could ever come true.

And then, there was him. _Him_ , real and willing.

She was eleven. Every tiny thing was perfect. It was the little things, always the little things that sent shockwaves coursing through her body like she'd been plugged straight into an electrical outlet. The way his face would flush when their arms accidentally brushed against one another, or how he started smirking instead of looking irritated when she sent spitballs sailing into the back of his head in class. The way he'd stack his lunch tray with extra boxes of chocolate milk and cups of pudding for her, or bring her sandwiches and cookies homemade by his dad, knowing that her mom would have forgotten to pack her anything at all.

It took them a long time to even get close to touching mouths again after that initial kiss in San Lorenzo. They were already halfway through the sixth grade when he'd tried it again. It was Valentine's Day, and she had yet to muster up the courage to give him the silver picture frame she'd gotten for him, after much deliberation. It wasn't even a picture of _them_ , or of her - but of Arnold and his parents, smiling in the kitchen of the boarding house with stacks of syrup-drenched pancakes in front of them. She loved that particular snapshot, and she knew that he would, too, since his parents were his whole world and all.

The present was still discreetly stowed away in her backpack when he had finally cornered her behind the trash cans at recess, his face bright red but full of a familiar look of determination. She was reduced to mush on the spot.

"Helga, I - uh- I wanted to ask you if you..." he mumbled, fingers fumbling together, weaving knots that clenched and untangled again and again nervously.

"What, Arnoldo?" she'd snapped. "Spit it out!"

"I... well..." he stammered. He broke off, chewing on his lip.

So she unzipped her backpack and whipped out the picture frame, handing it to him as casually as though she were tossing him a tissue to wipe his face with, despite the clamoring of her heart in her chest.

For a few long moments, he stared. His eyes darted back and forth from the photograph to her, mouth quivering slightly. Then he'd just done it; leaned forward and kissed her, standing on his tiptoes to match her height.

She wrote four new volumes of poetry that year, each book more feverish than the last.

After that stolen moment at recess, she gathered up all the guts she could muster. And she told him again. And again. And again.

They were moments when she felt especially lost - or especially hopeful. When they were alone in Arnold's room, working on math problems and English essays. Or splayed out on his red couch listening to jazz recordings. Once, even when they were out in the vacant lot, their knuckles touching in the clear light of day. When she was beside him, lovesick and drunk on the smell of his gluey hair and warm skin, she would forget herself. Every doubt she'd ever had, every wall she'd ever hidden behind - they disappeared, if only for a few moments. And she would whisper it as sweetly as she'd written it so many times in her journals in purple ink: "I love you."

I love you, Arnoldo. I love you, Football Head. Hair Boy. Yutz. Paste-for-brains. My love. I love you. I love you so much.

"I..." he would tremble, his cheeks coloring, before breaking off to kiss her. Sometimes he would just pat her awkwardly, rubbing circles into her back. Other times - the worst times - he was a deer caught in headlights, blinking uncertainly, frozen in fear.

Sixth grade passed. Then seventh. Then eighth. Their routines were well-versed; their habits steady and simple. He was kind-hearted. He was the way he'd always been: comforting, sweet, empathetic.

The problem, as usual, was her.

"What does it mean?" she'd asked Dr. Bliss on more than one occasion, feet swinging back and forth in anxious pendulum rhythms over the edge of the couch chair, until finally she was tall enough to touch the ground. "I don't think he really wants to be with me at all."

"If he didn't want to be with you, Helga," Dr. Bliss had insisted. "Then I don't think he would be."

"You don't get it," she snapped. She couldn't hide the misery in her voice. "I saved the boy's freaking parents. He's gonna owe that to me for the rest of his life."

"You could ask him," Dr. Bliss suggested. "You could tell all these things to him, rather than just to me."

But she couldn't bear to do that, too afraid of what his answer would be. He couldn't know how it grew to crush her - how she would throw it out there, every inch of herself. And he would falter, never quite getting more than halfway there.

* * *

They had been arguing more than usual, over the months leading to their breakup.

It started on a frozen day in the winter of ninth grade. The entire entrance to the high school was slippery, glossed with ice and gray city slosh. By the time she was on her way to Arnold's locker (draped in the hooded sweatshirt he'd given her the day before because she'd forgotten her coat, as usual), she was already in a bad mood.

When she spotted him, he was staring at something vacantly, lips slightly parted. She followed his eyes down the hallway. And she saw her: Lila.

 _Lila_ , looking especially stunning, in her turtleneck green sweater and little jean skirt. (Who the hell decided to wear a skirt in the middle of the God damn winter, anyway?)

 _It's not fair,_ Helga thought. And in a fit of heartbreak that seemed to spread through her chest in a familiar raging wildfire, the words burned themselves into her brain on repeat: _it's not fair it's not fair it's not fair._ It didn't feel like a revelation. It felt like a heavy truth she'd known but hadn't faced; one she couldn't keep from falling on her anymore. She'd loved him her whole freaking life, and still, he'd never found it in him to turn his eyes away from his favorite airhead-candy-sweet-talking girls once and for all, had he? He never looked at _her_ that way, did he? Did he?

She completely lost all rationality. Rushing over from behind, she shoved Arnold with her elbow before she could gather the self-control to stop herself, sending him toppling to the ground.

He happened to be carrying a Tupperware container of one of his father's meals in hand - a vegetable-and-rice recipe that Helga recognized as a Green Eye speciality - which split open all over the floor and which Arnold fell face first into. The sauce dripped down his shirt as he stood up, causing several of the high school students around them to snicker at his misfortune.

But the worst part of all of it was the way he didn't even say anything. He just stared at her - his eyes wide, too dumbfounded to even look angry. He was completely bewildered and thoroughly hurt, and her stomach seared with so much sorrow that she could only stare back, devoid of the ability to try to explain herself.

"Now that's an abusive relationship," Helga heard Rhonda whispering loudly to Nadine in math class later. "I mean, poor Arnold. It's like she's some kind of psychopath or something. What kind of girl _does_ that to her boyfriend?"

Helga could feel her throat burning. But she never apologized, incapable of beginning to find the words to explain herself.

But it marked a turning point, whether she wanted it to or not. The two of them were suddenly picking at each other for reasons they never had before - at least out loud. She was too bossy, too cruel. He was an annoying know-it-all. She was tactless; he was blind and naive. They were brushing against each other in all the wrong ways, saying the wrong things, as if purposely attempting to set the other off.

In June, they celebrated the last day of ninth grade with a dinner at Bigal's. She ordered the spaghetti with meatballs, which was one of her favorite dishes at the cafe. As was her typical way, she managed to stuff half her plate in her mouth in a matter of seconds, pausing only to burp loudly. It was Arnold's reaction to this that caught her off guard.

"Helga, that's rude," he hissed, glancing in apparent embarrassment at the guests around them.

She raised her eyebrow. "What's rude?" she demanded.

"We're in a restaurant. You don't have to... burp in everyone's faces in a restaurant."

Helga's eyes widened in disbelief. "Criminy, it was just an accident," she snapped. "What, am I not _prissy_ enough with my bodily functions for you?"

"No, it's just, if you weren't eating your food so fast, maybe -"

She slammed her fists on the table, standing up so fast her chair fell over. "Maybe what?"

"Well, I... maybe... maybe..." he spluttered.

"Maybe I would finally be the kind of girl you want to date?"

Arnold blinked. "What?" he said slowly. "Helga, what are you talking about? I didn't say anything like that - ""

"Well you should say it," she told him furiously, the hurt in her heart burning into anger in a familiar way.

"No, I shouldn't!"

"Go ahead and say it, Arnoldo!"

"No!" he was growing as angry as she was, his ears flushing pink.

"Say it!"

"No!"

"Just quit _lying_ to yourself already, okay?" she demanded, wishing she could keep her voice from shaking so violently. "Put us both out of our misery."

Arnold gaped at her.

"Oh good, that stupid fish-out-of-water face again," she snarled. "A real suiting look for someone so clueless."

"I..." he said, shaking his head. "Helga, I..." But he trailed off, unable or unwilling to complete the sentence.

It was the sudden, horrible prick of heat at the back of her eyes that finally sent her over the edge. Reaching into her pocket and slapping a twenty-dollar bill onto the table, she stumbled backwards over her fallen chair and raced out of the cafe. She was too dizzy, too nauseous to even pay mind to the nosy diners that peered up from their plates of food at her as she rushed past.

* * *

He had chased after her. Of course he had. His stupid, noble heart wouldn't have allowed him not to.

The last place she wanted to go was home. So she ran until her legs gave out and she collapsed behind the wall of an alleyway, panting, back sliding soundlessly down the edges of the graffiti-covered bricks. Here, hidden away with her face covered by her hands, she finally let herself cry. The tears tasted hot and salty as they flooded down her face, through her fingers, into her mouth.

It was mere minutes before she felt the warm hand on her shoulder. He crouched beside her on the cement, hips resting flush against hers. She didn't ask how he'd found her.

"I'm sorry," he breathed into her ear. He began rubbing her arm up and down in his sweet, uncertain way. The anger in his voice had completely disappeared.

She knew what she wanted. What she wished, more than anything else in the world, was that he would collapse on top of her. Hold her. She wanted him to be hungry for her. To love her, to need her, just like she needed him. _Had_ needed him, since they were three years old and her eyes bore into his in the rain.

But he wouldn't do that. She knew he wouldn't.

"I guess I was being mean," Arnold told her softly. "For no reason. We have to stop doing that to each other."

She refused to look at him, turning to wipe her nose on her sleeve instead. As they sat there, an old man carrying a baseball hat in one hand stumbled by. He was trembling slowly to the very ends of his white beard. "Need help, please spare some change" read the cardboard sign hanging from his neck.

Arnold reached into his pocket, pulled out a five-dollar bill. He'd lived in the city his whole life, and somehow, he still didn't know how to resist.

"Thank you, kind boy," the man muttered, sticking the money into his cap before limping away.

"Yeah, nice job giving that obvious addict an advance payment towards his next heroine trip," Helga muttered into her hands.

"Sometimes people just need help, Helga."

"Yeah, and it has to be _you_ helping them. You always have to be some kind of savior, don't you?" It made her want to cry harder, and she did.

"Listen, that was a stupid thing for me to say back there. I don't know why I said it. You can burp wherever you want to."

She snorted in response. If she hadn't been so upset, the ridiculousness of the situation would have made her laugh.

"I don't want to stop dating you," he tried again, even more gently.

"Well, that's nice," she choked out. "Did you ever try getting it through your abnormally large head that maybe I want to stop dating _you_?"

His hand stopped moving, frozen on her forearm.

"I..."

"I don't want to do this anymore, Arnold." She said it more firmly this time. Her heart was cracking open, scattering across her chest in a dusting of a hundred razor-sharp pieces.

"Why?" he asked. He sounded almost frantic now, searching for answers she felt he should already know. "Whatever it is, we can fix this. I know we can."

"We can't."

"We can. We just need to - "

" _I_ can't."

She could hear him breathing rapidly, feel the weight of his hand disappear from her arm.

"Helga."

" _What_?" she demanded. She was still daring to hope, somewhere deep and buried inside of her. He still had time to say it - the three words she needed to hear. There was a long pause, laden with the wailing sounds of Hillwood ambulances.

"What, Arnold?" she repeated.

"I, just," he stammered. "Is this really what you want?" he asked finally.

She stood up swiftly, brushing the dirt from her jeans. "It's really what I want."

She turned and left him sitting there, and she didn't look back.


	3. Day One

3: Day One

"Hey Arnold, hey Arnold, hey Arnold, hey - "

Groaning slightly, Arnold Shortman rolled over and fumbled for the button on his alarm clock. The deluge of sun that swam in through the skylight was not agreeing with his burning eyes.

He considered himself a morning person, most of the time. Added to that was the fact that it was the first day of school - an annual occasion he'd long found himself excited for, from the earliest days of elementary school to his first day of high school last year. But the loneliness inside of him felt difficult to shake today. It had been clawing its way through his heart for the past two months, steeping his entire body in an unfamiliar sense of immobility during the moments he needed to move most.

Resolutely, he finally tumbled off of his bed and began inching towards his closet, his movements automatic as he fished out his standard jeans - sweater - flannel shirt. He'd showered the night before, luckily, a routine that was more often than not beneficial in a boarding house with too many people making a scramble for the bathroom on weekday mornings.

"Morning, short man," Grandpa told him cheerily, after Arnold had ambled down the required two flights of staircases and found his way to the kitchen. His grandfather turned his back to him, his face bent over a pan of sizzling French toast on the stove.

"Morning," Arnold returned, taking a seat at the table and looking at his watch. He was the first one present aside from Grandpa, and Grandma, who was humming merrily as she poured him a mug of tea - boysenberry licorice, or was it ginger anchovy today? Truthfully, Grandma's uniquely brewed flavors were hard to identify, and most of the time, Arnold felt that it was better to not know.

"Ready for the first day, Kimba?" Grandma asked him, her eyes twinkling softly. Arnold rubbed his shoulder with one hand, trying his best to retain some of his usual optimism.

"Sure, Grandma, I'm ready," he told her. "It'll be a new year. New classes, new teachers, new - "

"Friends?" his mother suggested as she entered the kitchen, dressed in her Hillwood Medical Center uniform. She stooped to kiss him lightly on the forehead. Her lips lingered against his skin for a long moment. "Hopefully a lot of the old ones too."

"Yeah," he nodded, staring skeptically into his tea as though deep sea creatures might be traversing the dark waters at the bottom of the mug. _Not enough of the old ones_ , he added in his mind, but was careful not to say the words out loud. Anything but _that_.

"Just remember, Arnold," came his father's voice as he appeared in the doorway, still wearing a T-shirt and boxers. "Sometimes a fresh start is exactly what you need."

Miles grabbed a banana from the counter and began peeling it from the end, monkey-style, the way he'd shown his son during one of their cherished bonding sessions the summer before sixth grade. Sometimes, even now, his parents' little oddities still made Arnold's nerves clatter in his chest - like they had every day that year - his bones and veins and ligaments alight with a kind of zealous excitement he found impossible to describe to anyone else.

"Yeah," Arnold said, unable to contain the fondness in his voice. "You know, I think you're right, Dad."

"Well of course he's right!" Grandma cooed, pouring another two cups of herbal tea for Miles and Stella. "Jungle adventurers always know best."

After finishing his French toast and bacon - pausing to toss a plump and aging Abner a couple of slices - Arnold stalked into the hallway, double checked his carefully prepared backpack of textbooks and binders, and threw the straps over his shoulders, heaving a resigned sigh.

"I know you're still upset," his mother told him soothingly, her voice low. He hadn't even noticed her following him out of the kitchen. She stood by his side, eyes wandering the length of his body as if taking in the sheer size of his backpack, or the size of Arnold himself, for that matter, who'd sprouted up at least another two inches over the summer alone. "You just need to take it one step at a time. It's going to be okay, honey." She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"Thanks, Mom," he replied, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek. "Have a good day, okay?"

A curtain of fog hung over the city outside, shrouding the asphalt and cracking front stoops in a silvery veil. The walk to Gerald's seemed to take forever, partly because the books in Arnold's backpack weighed heavily on his shoulders.

When he finally arrived, his best friend was waiting outside. Timberly was still in the house, watching for the bus with her face pressed up against the front window. The two boys wiggled their thumbs together in their usual way that Arnold secretly hoped they would never outgrow.

"You ready, man?" Gerald asked, surveying Arnold as though checking him for ticks or signs of illness.

"Ready," he said, measuring his words carefully. "C'mon, let's get going."

They made their way to Hillwood High, starting in on chatter about lunchtime - what their classes would be like - what they had first period, which was English for Arnold, and Chemistry for Gerald.

"You realize," Gerald said suddenly, casting Arnold a serious glance. "That even though we're not in the same class, we both have to take Honors English with Mr. _Turner_?"

"Yeah," Arnold replied. "Why? You've met him before?"

"Met him?" Gerald repeated. "Well, no. This is his first year teaching at Hillwood. But he's s'posed to be sort of a giant dick."

"How does anyone know?" Arnold asked, raising an eyebrow. "If it's his first year at Hillwood?"

"People _know_. I have sources remember?" Gerald said casually. "Fuzzy Slippers is never wrong," he added, his voice full of the usual gusto it took on whenever he was recounting insider information or an urban legend.

"Fuzzy Slippers gave you intel on a new English teacher?" Arnold asked skeptically. "Come on, Gerald. Whoever this guy is, he can't be that bad."

"Whatever you say," Gerald told him darkly. "Phoebe's all excited for everything. I don't know how she does it, man. She's taking three extra classes on top of what we're taking. World history, calculus, and some other thing. Maybe it was creative writing?"

"I didn't even know they offered creative writing."

"Well, they do. I think."

"I hope Helga's taking that. She'd be great at it."

Gerald stopped in his tracks, casting Arnold a resigned look.

"What?" Arnold asked. "You don't have to look at me like that."

"I know, man, but-"

"I was just saying-"

"I know," Gerald said, shaking his head.

"What? She would be!"

"What's going on with you and Lila now, anyway?" Gerald rose his eyebrows. "Sure seems like you been hanging out a lot with her lately."

"We're just friends," Arnold said hesitantly.

"Yeah? You sure about that? No lingering feelings of lust and adoration? That girl's grown up real nice, that's for sure."

"Gerald, I don't know what lingering feelings you're talking about. We've been just friends for years now. Besides, weren't you the one who was always telling me to get over Lila?"

"Yeah," Gerald admitted, and shrugged. "Look, I was just thinkin it might help you to... ya know, move on... if you actually tried. With _anyone_."

"Gerald..."

"Helga broke up with you months ago," he added blatantly, sending daggers through Arnold's gut.

"I am moving on," he insisted, trying not to sound defensive. "Just because I'm not jumping at the chance to try to make a move on any girl I've ever come in contact with-"

"I know," Gerald cut him off. "I know. I'm just tryna look out for you, that's all. I want you to be happy."

"Thanks, Gerald," Arnold sighed. "But I'm fine. Seriously."

"Whatever you say."

When they reached the steps of Hillwood High, they found it swarming with people. Students congested the hallways in droves, rushing off to their homerooms and first classes, while teachers ushered frenzied freshmen through the maze-like halls, trying their best to keep them from getting lost or misdirected by conniving upperclassmen. The building was certainly overwhelming for new high schoolers - full of enough floors and twisting corridors to throw off even someone who was shameless enough to show up with a school map. It had been a puzzle the year before, but thankfully, Arnold and Gerald knew the ropes well enough by now to know where they were headed.

"Pheebs!" Gerald hollered suddenly through a throng of anxious-looking new students. Arnold followed his gaze to the two girls slipping around the bend in the hallway.

"Gerald, there you are!" the small dark-haired girl called back to him, hurrying over and immediately seizing his hand, even while her arms were filled with several textbooks. Gerald had to bend over to kiss her.

"Hey, guys," Arnold greeted them. The blonde by Phoebe's side hung back, her humid blue eyes suddenly focused determinedly on the floor. Arnold couldn't help but notice how pretty she looked, dressed in jeans and a sweater that hung loosely over her lanky frame. His eyes zigzagged towards her ponytail, tied with her soft, worn-out ribbon: pink like her sweater. He swallowed down the burning feeling at the back of his throat.

"Good morning, Arnold," Phoebe returned. "Are you feeling prepared for your classes?"

"I'm not sure," he told her honestly. "We'll see, I guess."

"I have chemistry first period with Gerald," Phoebe said. She glanced quickly at Helga.

"That sounds nice," Arnold offered.

"I have trigonometry," Helga grimaced as she said the words, as though they left a sour taste in her mouth.

"You'll be okay," Gerald told her. "Just copy your homework offa Phoebe. Then you won't have to worry about anything. I mean, not till your first test at least."

"Gerald!" Phoebe scolded.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding," he said hastily.

"That's certainly not the right foot to start the school year off on - so to speak," Phoebe said, frowning. "Besides, Helga is very intelligent on her accord. She doesn't need to copy her homework off of anyone."

"I was kidding, Pheebs," Gerald repeated, looking slightly put out as he rubbed his shoulder with one hand.

"Yeah, well, it oughta be a blast," Helga spit out, rolling her eyes. "A whole hour and a half collecting protractors and graphing calculators with a bunch of drooling dweebs."

"Maybe you'll end up liking it," Arnold suggested. Helga snapped her eyes toward him, nearly burning a hole through his skin with her laser-like glare for a whole half second before she directed her gaze towards the floor again.

Gerald coughed pointedly. "Yeah, maybe."

"We'll see you later, I'm sure," Phoebe said finally, offering Arnold a smile as she turned to walk back down the hallway, Gerald at her side. Helga trailed behind them quickly, muttering something about needing to stop at her locker.

"See ya later," Arnold told them faintly, wondering if Mr. Turner could possibly be as bad as his friend had said.

The first thing he thought about his new classroom was that it smelled like lemon Pine-Sol. He recognized it immediately, since the scent was a favorite of his dad's, who had recently taken to throwing the stuff over every kitchen and bathroom surface in the boarding house at odd intervals. Just a few weeks prior, in fact, Arnold had ambled out of bed in the middle of the night to use the bathroom - only to find his father scrubbing the toilet down in a fit of inexplicable two A.M. cleaning frenzy.

Already sitting in the front row of the class were Rhonda, Sheena, Iggy, Stinky, and Lila, chattering softly amongst themselves.

"I ain't sure how I ended up placed in an _Honors_ English class," Stinky was musing proudly. "I reckon they musta seen somethin in me."

"Well, I think it makes ever so much sense, Stinky," Lila told him. Her hair had been straightened to perfection; it fell down her back in a shining auburn curtain. "You're smart, and you have such a nice way with words."

Stinky beamed at her, his face flushing slightly. "Garsh."

Arnold sat in the second row, emptying his notebook and writing utensils onto his desk. It was a few minutes before a very tall, broad-shouldered man rose from the desk at the front of the room. Strangely, Arnold hadn't noticed that he was already there. He looked to be in his early forties, with slightly graying sand-colored hair and an almost stonelike quality to his face.

"Ahem," the man said drily, clearing his throat. The scattered chatter ceased immediately; everyone's attention was now on Mr. Turner, whose beady stare seemed to command instant respect.

"Hello," Mr. Turner continued. "And welcome to Honors Ten English."

He turned unsmilingly to the blackboard behind him, which had already been filled with a neatly-scribed list of the names of several books.

"This class," Mr. Turner said, his voice still dry, eyes slightly glazed, almost as if he were bored, "Is for literature. If you can't keep up, you will know immediately."

From the front row, Stinky and Iggy gulped audibly. Lila, on the other hand, straightened up in her seat, hands folded neatly on her desk in front of her.

"If you _can_ keep up," Mr. Turner added. "You might later find you were mistaken."

Arnold attempted again to swallow the dryness at the back of his throat. He always tried his best to give people the benefit of the doubt, but he could feel dislike blooming in his stomach.

"S'cuse me, sir?" a slightly manic-sounding voice rang out from behind him, somewhere in the last row of students.

"Your name, young man?" Mr. Turner asked icily.

"Gamelthorpe. Thaddeus Gamelthorpe."

Several students' heads turned towards the black-haired boy behind them, whose reputation for causing mayhem merited a certain level of worship of its own. Despite the varying strands of gossip that travelled Hillwood - he was insane, he was suicidal, he was going to shoot up the whole school - kids enjoyed being in classes with Curly, if only because the drama he seemed to instigate at every turn made their lives more interesting.

"Continue, Mr. Gammelthorpe."

"What if we _appreciate_ literature but simply don't like any of the books listed in the syllabus?"

Arnold could practically feel Curly vibrating in his chair behind him as Mr. Turner stared daggers across the room. "Then you will write your first ten-page paper, Mr. Gamelthorpe, on the merits of your opinion."

"Ten page paper?" came the horrified mumblings around the room.

"Yes," Mr. Turner nodded swiftly. "Your first assignment, due when we return for our block period next Monday, is a ten-page paper."

"But we haven't even read anything yet!" Rhonda cried out, appalled. "What's the paper _on_?"

"Your expectations for this course. What you hope to take from your readings and from this class as a whole."

Lila raised her hand. "Please, Mr. Turner, sir. Will we get penalized if we write more than ten pages?"

For the first time, a shadow of a smile splintered across the teacher's face. "Your name, miss?"

"Lila. Lila Sawyer."

"No, Miss Sawyer. You will not be."

"Ain't she just the smartest thing," Arnold heard Stinky whisper loudly and adoringly. Arnold found himself chewing on his lower lip. She _was_ smart, he thought.

"But you _will_ be penalized," Mr. Turner continued. "If your thoughts are overly dry, unrealistically optimistic, or nauseatingly uninformed. So I would advise you to think carefully, and edit any words that make their way from your obtuse minds to your papers. Any questions?"

Not a one.

* * *

For Helga, the first day of school ended much the same way as the day before: horribly. She slammed her bedroom door shut and lay upside down on her bedspread, sunshine locks hanging over the edge of the blanket. The blood was rushing to her head, but she was oddly refreshed by the dizzying feeling.

Phoebe didn't always rant, but when she did, it went on and on. And _on_. Helga closed her eyes as she halfway listened to her joy-filled rambling through speakerphone.

"Chemistry was enthralling," Phoebe was explaining brightly, "But I simply can't wait for my global history class tomorrow. I've been excited for it for two years. Mr. Davis is supposed to be one of the most wonderful teachers at Hillwood, and considering the superior nature of the subject matter in comparison to the history classes we've taken in the past, I have no doubt it will live up to the expectations."

"Yeah?" Helga said lazily. "That's great."

"I'm so excited. I'm already two-thirds of the way through the textbook."

"You're the only one I've ever met who reads their textbook before there are even chapters assigned, Pheebs."

"Well, I just can't help it!"

Helga laughed. "It'll prolly be really fun for you."

"How have you been feeling?" Phoebe asked, her voice suddenly considerably more tentative.

Helga bit her lip. It wasn't that she didn't trust her very best friend in the world. In fact, there were few people she did trust, and Phoebe was one of them. But when it came to her feelings, she still wasn't particularly good at saying the words out loud. At least not to Phoebe, who wouldn't, from Helga's perspective, understand.

"Fine," she told her. "I mean, it's the usual bullshit. But there's an ice cream vending machine in the cafeteria now, so there's that," she added as an afterthought.

"We have creative writing together this week," Phoebe said optimistically. "That should be fun."

"Yeah," Helga replied, but she was incapable of concealing the gloom in her voice.

"You've always been so creative, Helga. I think you'll really enjoy that class."

"Yeah," Helga rolled her eyes. "I got a lot of inspiration going on right now. I can see it already. _The Wrath of Big Bob and the Wasteland of Miriam_ , a haiku by Helga G. Pataki."

"Oh, dear. Does your mother have AA on Wednesday?" Phoebe asked.

Helga scoffed. "Yeah, she's supposed to. What a freaking crock. She always says she's gonna go. Then the next thing you know she's downing two bottles of wine and passing out on the couch."

Phoebe paused for a moment. "I'm sorry, Helga."

"Yeah, me too. Get this, last week _Olga_ comes by with her husband looking all special in his dumb suit and Marina all bundled up in her arms like the perfect adorable little dumpling she is. They were going on some two-day business trip for Ricky's job and Olga had to go along, I guess, so she could be his stinkin arm candy and eat hors d'oeuvres with all the rich assholes. Bob goes 'Your mother is gonna watch the baby while you're away, sweetheart.' Then Miriam stumbles over and she can barely even talk, she's so drunk."

"Oh, no."

"Yeah. So then Olga starts crying and refuses to leave Marina with Miriam."

"Oh, no."

"Yeah, it was a real sob story. Olga going on and on like, 'I just want you to be _better_ , Mommy, I want to trust you with my daughter.' So now of courseBob's down Miriam's throat about it every chance he gets, telling her she needs to get her act together and stuff, cause once his little princess gets upset, it's all over from there."

"Perhaps the incident will inspire your mother to finally face her deep-seated emotional issues head on."

"Hope so, cause I sure as hell never inspired her to do it," Helga said bitterly. There was another tentative pause.

"Oh, Helga, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean-"

"It's okay, I know you didn't. It's just the truth."

"Well-"

"Anyway, to make a long story short, Olga left me in charge of Marina and I took care of her for two days."

"You did?" Phoebe replied, sounding surprised. "I didn't even know. Why didn't you tell me last week? I could have helped you if you needed anything."

"I know, but I didn't wanna bother you. You had your special anniversary date with Gerald and everything."

"Next time you should ask me. I'd be there immediately."

"I know you would," Helga told her gratefully. "Anyway, listen, I'm gonna get to bed soon, okay? I'm kind of tired."

For a moment, Helga stared over at her dresser after she hung up the phone. The razor blades - the ones she'd taken inconspicuously from Curly's bag - rested there, their edges dulled and gray. She wondered, sometimes, what those blades looked like in his eyes. Did they call out to him? Did they flirt, sending comfort in their message of primordial pain, crying sideways with the promise of release?

* * *

They sat on a bench in the park, shaded by the leaves of the Japanese Maple above them. The large tree, with its roots and twisting trunks laden with sparrow nests, was one of Nadine's favorites in the whole city. Rhonda had chosen it carefully for that reason.

"You know, you really look _great_ ," she told her friend. "Two months in the wilderness is a good look for you."

She wasn't lying. Nadine was a lovely shade of nutmeg brown, and she had allowed her hair to grow longer over the summer. It hung down her back in glowing yellow braids that contrasted with her tanned skin.

"Thanks, Rhonda. So do you."

"So," Rhonda held her breath. "Go ahead and show me."

Nadine's fingers flipped gracefully through the pages of her spiral notebook, her face filled with the eager devotion of a woman staring straight into the eyes of her love. The lined pages were filled with carefully pressed bug carcasses. Shivers ran down Rhonda's back.

"See, there are a lot of arthropods out there that shed their exoskeletons when they're ready to. It's called ecdysis. It's one of nature's most beautiful and mysterious processes."

"That's..." Rhonda started, but found herself helpless to offer anything else. She held her hands out in front of her to examine her nail beds instead - why was the cuticle on her pinky peeling? Clearly she'd have to start moisturizing more than three times a day.

"This is the alderfly. The lacewing. The silverfish Lepisma. Micaria romana, the most cryptic of-"

Rhonda couldn't help herself anymore. "That is _revolting_ , Nadine," she shuddered.

Nadine whipped her head up, annoyed. "It is not!"

"I'm sorry but it is."

"Why'd you ask to see my book, anyway? You already knew you'd hate it."

"I did not! Well... maybe I did, but I just wanted to make you feel like it was special."

She knew instantly she had said the wrong thing when Nadine slammed her journal on the bench beside her. "It's already special without you needing to make me feel like anything!"

"I know," Rhonda said quickly in an attempt to backpedal.

But she was interrupted as three girls approached them suddenly. Rhonda felt a tremor of excitement in the pit of her stomach as she admired their miniskirts - contrasting shades of pink, kelly green, and robin's egg blue - and their perfectly pedicured feet.

"Rhonda!" Connie said. Kelly extracted a tube of lipstick and compact mirror from her Coach purse and began painting her lips on the spot.

"What a coincidence!" Emily exclaimed. "We're taking a walk too!" She cast an odd glance at Nadine. "Who's your friend?"

Rhonda cleared her throat. "Connie, Kelly, Emily, this is Nadine. Nadine - these are the _girls_."

"Yeah, I've seen you around school before," Nadine muttered. "Seniors, right?"

"Yep," Kelly replied, smacking her lips. "Oh my god, cute hair," she added to Nadine. "Vintage. So adorable."

"Thanks," Nadine told her, eyes darting back and forth a bit awkwardly.

"Anyway, guess we'll see you around, Rhonda," Kelly said. Rhonda's heart began to race in her chest.

"Wait, where are you ladies headed?" she asked hopefully.

"Just taking a walk," Connie told her, shrugging. "We just came back from the diner. Emily ordered pancakes," she added, casting the blonde-haired girl a serious glance.

"Ugh, I have to stop being so fat," Emily groaned.

"You girls wanna join us?" Kelly offered, closing her purse with a resounding snap.

"We'd love to," Rhonda said immediately. "I could stand to work off the calories from my breakfast, too. I had an omelette. With _cheese_ in it. Ugh, I have to stop being so fat."

She leapt up from the bench, but Nadine remained sitting, staring up at them with her mouth slightly parted.

"You know, girls," Nadine said finally, rising from her seat slowly. "I think I should actually be getting home soon."

Waving at Rhonda with one hand, she turned and began walking in the opposite direction, braids bouncing down her back.

When she was no longer in earshot, Kelly raised her eyebrows at Rhonda. It was as though Rhonda, herself, had committed the fashion crime, and that, Rhonda thought, was completely unfair.

"She has the ugliest effing hair I've ever seen," Kelly said. Rhonda blinked as a breeze rustled through.


	4. Outside of That

**A/N** : You guys! Thank you so much for your reviews! They each mean so much to me and I appreciate it a lot. Hey Arnold is amazing and you are, too.

* * *

4: Outside of That

It was a bright Sunday morning, sunlight slanting through the boarding house windows in white stripes.

Arnold sat at the kitchen table with his head propped up sluggishly in one arm, ballpoint pen cap in his mouth. Try as he might, he couldn't find the inspiration to begin his paper for Mr. Turner's class. What did he hope to take away from reading The Great Gatsby or Hamlet or The Scarlet Letter, anyway? He winced as he found his thoughts straying to Helga again. In times past, she would have been sitting at the table helping him with the assignment, her natural knack for putting words on paper contrasting with his own often stifled sense of creativity.

"You're looking a little under the weather, Arnold. Just not yourself lately."

Grandma had one hand on her hip as she surveyed him. Her eyes were slightly narrowed, the papery skin around her mouth creasing as she frowned. She was preparing a bowl of chips and a homemade bean-barley-herring flavored dip to bring to the living room, where his father, Mr. Potts, Grandpa, and Oskar were noisily enjoying a football game. Grandma had been wearing her 49ers jersey all morning, although Arnold was fairly certain the 49ers weren't playing.

"I'm fine," Arnold promised her. "Really."

"But you aren't even celebrating the Commonwealth Games."

"It's football, Grandma," he reminded her. "And I never liked watching football all that much."

As he said the words, he considered the fact that he'd long been under the impression that his dad didn't like watching football all that much, either. Unemployed and seemingly endlessly energetic, his father had been darting from activity to activity lately, as though determined to find something new that would stick with him.

Grandma came closer, a familiar mischievous sparkle growing in her stare. "Well, what do you say we have ourselves an adventure?"

"An adventure?" Arnold repeated.

"Just like old times."

"What exactly were you thinking of?" he asked warily.

"There's a creature out there who needs us, Arnold. He's been crying out to me for weeks now. Enslaved - miserable - battered."

He tried to hide his sigh. "What kind of creature?"

In response, she lowered her voice to a deep, expressive contralto and let out a growling meow.

"Cat?" Arnold guessed.

Grandma nodded. "A feline in distress."

"How do you know he's in distress?"

"He spoke to me, of course."

Arnold rubbed the back of his shoulder with his hand.

"We must go to him as soon as possible!" Grandma cried.

"Grandma, I..."

"Please, my partner in crime."

"Grandma, I'm supposed to be working on a ten-page paper today. I haven't even started it yet," he said weakly.

"But I need you. You're my only hope." There was a pleading look in her eyes, a hunger that he recognized and knew too well by now to try to avoid. He was the only one in the house she would be able to rope into accompanying her, and both of them knew it.

It was love, and only love, that made him knead his fingers into his side and tell her he'd be ready in five minutes. He buttoned up his flannel over his T-shirt, sighed heavily again, and then waited while she disappeared upstairs.

When she returned, the 49ers jersey was gone, replaced with an all-black jumpsuit and dark charcoal streaks painted heavily under her eyes. Arnold followed her lead as they exited the door and made their way down the front steps. From the living room, a series of enraged yells shook the walls as someone or other on the TV screen fumbled a play.

Grandma made the decision to take the subway to Klaxon and Thirty-Second Street, where, she claimed, the little animal with whom she'd shared a spiritual connection was waiting to be rescued. She grabbed his hand and pushed them so violently through the turnstile that a little girl ahead of them was knocked to the platform floor.

"I'm sorry," Arnold told the girl fretfully, stopping immediately to help her stand up while she wiped the dirt from her knees. There were tears welling up in her eyes. Grandma was racing obliviously towards the doors of a subway car.

"Here, take this," he said anxiously, trying to think quickly as he reached into his pocket for a wad of crumpled bills and placed them in the girl's hand. "You can go get some ice cream. Or whatever you like. It'll make you feel better."

He rushed across the platform and made his way through the closing doors just in time.

"Fight for the little guy, Arnold; that's what I always say," Grandma proclaimed. He gripped the metal railing above them, but she balanced with her arms held out at her sides, as though surfing on the litter-laden gray floor. "Protect the innocent. Serve justice to the ones who need it most, and justice will be done unto you!"

There was a scattering of applause and wolf whistles from several of the riders around them.

When they arrived at their destination, Arnold followed Grandma on a zigzagging course, jaywalking across streets, darting though alleyways lined with rusting garbage cans and graffiti murals. He was assuming she'd lead them to a litter of strays, or a lonesome kitten inside one of those trash bins.

She stopped at last in front of a white house, encircled by a jagged chain link fence. He waited, thinking she had lost her way, or maybe had remembered the cat never existed at all.

"Okay, Kimba," Grandma hissed, eyes narrowed determinedly.

"Yeah? You see him?"

"He lives in there." She pointed at the peeling paint on the shuttered bay window.

"In the house?" Arnold raised his eyebrows. "The cat lives in the house?"

"Well, of course he lives in the house."

"Wait a second," he fumbled. He was trying to think quickly of a way to get out of this now that they had already come so far. "Grandma, we can't take the cat if he has an owner. Look, there's a car in the driveway and everything. Someone obviously lives here."

"They live here, alright," Grandma said darkly. "They torture him. Neglect him. Leave him without food for days. Step on his tail, just for the fun of it," she spit out the last words in disgust.

"How do you know that?"

"A tail is very important to a feline. It's their lifeblood and their soul. Their source of balance."

"But how do you _know_ , Grandma?"

"Well, how could I not know?" she asked, as if the question had a glaringly obvious answer. "He's a member of the animal kingdom."

Arnold exhaled patiently. "Listen, Grandma, I know you want to do what's best but - we can't just break and enter into a person's home. We don't even know who lives here."

"I'll tell you who lives here. The enemy."

"What _enemy_?"

But there was a rumbling yell from inside then and she grabbed him by the collar, pulling him hastily and running with him in tow towards the side of the house. They slid down onto their stomachs on a small rectangular patch of grass, staring through the hexagons in the fence.

"He's there," Grandma said, pointing up at the side window. Arnold stared into the glass and caught sight of the familiar-looking figure, whose large, bulky frame and bottle blonde buzz cut stood out to him immediately.

"Hey," he said with a jolt of recognition. "I know who that is. His name's Wolfgang."

"Wolfgang," Grandma repeated sourly, her lips curling.

"Yeah, he goes to the same school as me. I've known him since way back. He was always kind of a bully."

"He still is. We have no choice but to save our furry friend from the jaws of destruction."

They watched as Wolfgang disappeared from view. Within seconds, they heard the door at the front of the house open. His heart racing, Arnold tried to crouch lower on the ground, pushing Grandma's head down beside him.

"Catch ya on the flip side, Padre!" Wolfgang was shouting. A gate in the fence clicked open, and then his pounding footsteps trickled off into the distance as he sauntered down the sidewalk.

Grandma's head popped up. "He's gone. I'm going in."

"How are you - you can't just - wait!" Arnold mumbled helplessly as his grandmother sprang up onto her feet and began to climb the chain links.

"Justice must be served!"

"Come on, Grandma, get down from there!"

"In the name of all things righteous, for all innocent creatures of the planet, we must rise to action!" She was moving faster now.

"Oh, God," Arnold groaned. He had no choice but to follow her, latching onto the fence and trying fruitlessly to keep one hand at her side in case she fell. That was the last thing they needed: to go to jail _and_ to have her break every bone in her eighty-seven-year-old body.

They managed to clear the fence in minutes flat. Grandma reached the top, then leapt to the ground below them in Wolfgang's yard, somehow landing gracefully on two feet. Arnold jumped and felt his shirt rip as it caught on a snag in the fence. He cursed under his breath.

"This way, Arnold." She crept towards the side window on tiptoe and pressed her face up against the halfway open glass.

"Be careful," Arnold whispered nervously. "Someone's gonna see us."

Grandma cast a daring look around and began fumbling with the screen. When it wouldn't budge, she extracted a jackknife from her pocket and - before he could stop her - slashed the wires with two long diagonal cuts. Ripping through the slashes with her hands until there was a large hole in the screen, she turned and nodded at her grandson as if to say, _You know what to do_.

 _Don't get arrested, don't get arrested, don't get arrested,_ Arnold pleaded silently. Grandma lifted the window up a little higher, then hoisted herself through the hole in the screen. She dove head first into the house. Sighing, Arnold followed after her. Unfortunately, it proved to be a bit of a challenge fitting his head through the narrow space, and he ended up with several throbbing scratches on his cheeks and ears.

They found themselves in a dining room carpeted with fancy Persian rugs. A large wedding cake chandelier hung above the table in the center of the room; the glass sparkled as it caught the light streaming in. Arnold rubbed the cuts on his face as he looked around him nervously.

"I know he's here somewhere," Grandma muttered as she darted across the rugs. He had to follow her as she sidled into the kitchen, down a hallway, past a flowery-smelling bathroom.

"Cadence!" she began calling softly, pressing her lips together and purring enticingly. "Cadence!"

"Cadence?" Arnold whispered in annoyance.

"That's his name. You'll understand when you meet him. He has the rhythmic grace of a..."

"Grandma!" Arnold clapped a hand over her mouth. He could hear footsteps approaching from another room. They pressed themselves quickly beside a portrait of Alexander the Great, backs flat against the wall.

"Who goes there!" Grandma attempted to cry out. Luckily, her voice was mostly muffled by his hand still covering her lips, and he heaved a sigh of relief when the footsteps disappeared in the opposite direction.

"Look, Grandma, I think we better get out of here."

But his grandmother clapped her palm to her forehead, her face suddenly lighting up. "I know exactly where he is!"

"Grandma, please, someone's probably calling the police right now, I think we should-"

"Come on, Arnold!" She grabbed him by the wrist and started racing down the hall. They bounded up a staircase, through another hall, and into the open door of a bedroom.

It had to be Wolfgang's room, Arnold thought. He could tell by the assortment of sports trophies, and the pictures lining the wall - framed photos of Hillwood's football team, on which Wolfgang was the quarterback.

"Cadence, sweet boy," Grandma sung. "We've come for you."

She looked around for a moment. Then, snapping her fingers, she dropped to the floor and crawled under the bed, inching her way across the wood.

"Hurry!" Arnold urged her.

Then he stepped back in disbelief. Grandma was emerging again, and in her arms was a tiny orange tabby cat. The kitten mewed softly, rubbing his head up against her fingertips.

"Hey!" he said, blinking in surprise. "You really found him!"

"Well, of course I did."

Arnold came closer, scratching Cadence behind the ears. "He does look skinny."

"Oh, yes," Grandma said sadly. "He hasn't eaten a proper meal in days."

"He's pretty cute," Arnold admitted, smiling slightly as the cat yawned and closed his eyes.

"HEY!" a booming voice screamed suddenly from somewhere downstairs. "WHO THE HELL IS UP THERE?"

Arnold's chest seized up. He glanced at Grandma.

"I GOT A GUN! I DON'T NEED TO CALL ANY COPS!"

They could hear footsteps creaking up the staircase.

Both of them shifted their gaze to a window just above Wolfgang's bed.

"Grandma," Arnold whispered. "We're one flight above ground."

"You got it."

" _Please_ be careful."

"Same to you, ranger." She placed Cadence gingerly in Arnold's hands as she reached into her pocket again for her jackknife. The slashings were even faster this time - ten seconds and she'd ripped her second hole of the day in a window screen. She gave Arnold a quick nod and then crept up onto the bed, grabbed hold of the windowsill, and leapt through the hole to the grass below. Arnold stared after her for a moment before doing the same.

His knees buckled underneath him as he landed with a thud in Wolfgang's yard. Cadence, somehow, had his eyes closed and was now purring peacefully against his chest.

"Run, Grandma!" Arnold yelled, frantic. He opened the front gate and they tumbled out and down the sidewalk, heaving, running until they were about three blocks down from the house they'd broken into. He collapsed onto his knees.

"We did it, Arnold," Grandma told him proudly. Her face was glowing as she swooped the cat up and kissed his whiskers.

"Yeah," Arnold panted, bent double over the cement. "I guess."

"Let's do it again soon."

He didn't bother to try to hide his moan this time, accepting Grandma's outstretched hand as she helped him to his feet.

* * *

"Harold Berman."

The oversized sophomore was shaking from his head to his toes as he came closer to the source of the foreboding voice. Of all the ways he could be spending a perfectly beautiful Sunday - like playing games at the arcade, or ordering a pizza, or eating leftover spaghetti, or Oreos, or Fig Newtons, or marshmallows, or -

"Harold Berman, you betta get to explainin."

Big Gino's lair still looked the same as it had back in elementary school - the spare tires and tools hanging on the wall; stock items stashed in various places around the garage. So did Big Gino himself, whose small stature belied his intimidating power.

"Gino, I mean, Big Gino, sir," Harold said meekly, his voice shaking. Beside him, two muscular assistants had each of his arms in a viselike grip. "I didn't finish selling the stash yet. I'm gonna have the money for you soon, I promise."

Gino jumped down from behind his desk and drew himself closer, dark eyes leering. "Interesting. Very interesting. I seem to rememba you sayin the same thing sometime's about last week."

Harold stumbled backwards. Gino's assistants tightened their grip. "I know, but it's just taking a little longer to sell than I thought," he pleaded. "There, uh, there aren't as many potheads out here as there used to be, that's all. I'm gonna get the money to you, I swear. I wasn't gonna run away or nothin."

"Berman," Gino said coolly. "Your excuses mean nothin to me. I'm gonna give you a break. But just this once. You have till sundown Monday to get me the money."

"Yes, sir, thank you so much, sir, oh thank you, thank you-"

"That's enough. Just rememba. You can run, but you can't hide. No one hides from Gino."

Gino snapped his fingers; his assistants released Harold so quickly that he lost his balance and fell over. Shaking, he stood up and gave the menacing figures around him a quick nod before shuffling out the garage door.

Once he had reached the open air, Harold cast a glance behind him. He looked carefully down at the toes of his worn sneakers. Then he began racing down the sidewalk, running as fast as he could down.


	5. Keep It Together

5: Keep It Together

No matter what any other idiot tried to say, it wasn't his fault. It _wasn't_.

Harold had never meant to try to outsmart Big Gino. Why on earth would he do that? He couldn't! No, he had had the best of intentions when he had first gotten caught up in this whole thing. All he wanted was an easy way to earn a little pocket change - some extra cash, that was all. There was a new horror movie Patty had been wanting to see, something gory and filled with blood-sucking demons, which sounded awesome to him. And it wasn't that he _liked_ her or anything like that - not as more than a friend - but her sixteenth birthday was going to be coming up soon and all, and none of the other jerks at school were going to do anything nice for her, were they? He just thought it'd be kinda fun to treat her to tickets. Maybe even dinner. They could watch the horror flick and suck down some cheeseburgers and milkshakes, and maybe he could even get some of those waiters at Bigal's Cafe to come out and sing happy birthday to her and bring them cake and stuff. It would sure beat hanging out by himself.

Problem was, he didn't have any money. There was the possibility of trying to get a job somewhere - but that was never gonna happen, especially not within a week. He'd remembered something Sid had said to him once, awhile back. Something about how to make a little quick cash when you needed it. Big Gino was the name that stuck in his mind.

The deal the underground mobster offered to Harold seemed pretty good: sell a portion of the weed in the lair to some new customers. _Be creative_ , Gino had said. _Try_ _out some of the customas at the_ _butcha. Sees_ if yo _u can get some of them meat_ _eatas to buy it. Try the playground at PS 118. Find us a new market, and you get ta pocket a cut of the_ _money._

It was gonna be _easy_ , Harold had thought that day, chuckling and rubbing his hands together as he made his way out of the garage. There were kids and teenagers all over the place just dying for some of this stuff, right? He had the plastic bags stashed carefully in his backpack. He went home that night, tossed the pile into the corner of his room, and took a long, relaxing shower after his dinner of steak and mashed potatoes.

There was just one thing he hadn't been counting on: his mother.

He heard the bloodcurdling scream even through the rushing water in the bathroom. "Harold Berman, what is the _meaning_ of this!"

Stumbling out in a towel, unable to even see his reflection in the steam-covered mirrors, he went speeding back to his bedroom.

"Mommy! I can explain!"

But it was too late. She had the plastic bags in one outstretched hand, clenching them like a T-Rex clawing its prey. Tears were coursing down her face, smearing mascara tracks across her cheeks.

"He's an addict, Jerry!" she bawled, racing out of Harold's room. Harold followed her helplessly into the hallway; suds dripped from his skin and bled down into the floor. His mother collapsed against his father's chest, flinging her arms around his neck and sobbing harder still.

"Calm down, please," his father said faintly. "Marilyn, you're getting hysterical."

"My sweet baby! My little boy! Addicted to this... this... _illicit substance!_ "

"I'm not addicted to anything, Mom!" Harold whined. "I wasn't gonna smoke it myself. I was just gonna sell it, that's all. Maybe to some kids on the playground or somethin like that."

His mother's sobs grew more wretched than ever before.

"Harold!" his father exclaimed in surprise. "Have some common sense!"

"I got lots of common sense!" Harold told them defensively. "I was trying to make some money, that's all! No one around here even gives me an allowance anymore!"

"So you were going to sell this to kids?"

"Not little kids!" Harold stumbled over his words. "Just... you know... fifth graders, maybe! Or sixth graders! They're old enough, but less careful with their money than other people!"

" _You_!" Marilyn Berman wept, lifting her head from her husband's chest and wagging the bags in her son's face. "You will never sell this to _anyone_ , do you understand? This is _mine_ now, and you are grounded for all eternity!"

"Aw, man!" Harold moaned. "All eternity?!"

"All eternity!"

He looked to his dad for help - but none came. He'd dug himself into a hole this time, alright.

* * *

As Harold made his way down the sidewalk on Monday evening, the sun flamed in orange and hot pink streaks over the horizon. He'd accepted that life as he knew it was over. He just prayed that the price he'd be forced to pay would leave him with all his limbs in tact.

 _Hold your head high_ , Harold told himself, rapping anxiously on the door to the garage. _Be bold. Be brave. Be confident._

The beady eye of one of Gino's minions appeared in the peephole, and then the door swung open.

"Harold Berman," came the haunting voice as the two large teenage assistants clamped down on his wrists. "Step into my office."

"Like I have a choice," Harold found himself grumbling under his breath. "Madame Fortress Mommy."

"What was that, Berman?"

"Oh, I, uh - nothing, sir."

"Berman," Gino continued from behind his mahogany executive desk. "You failed, didn't you?"

Harold couldn't hold it in any longer. His legs buckled like gelatin molds underneath him; he would have fallen down if not for the teenagers at his side who wouldn't let go of him. He could feel tears burning in his eyes. "I didn't mean to, Gino, I swear I didn't mean to! C'mon, I'm a good guy! You hafta go easy on me!"

"Let me tell you somethin, you useless hunk of excess calories. You make me sick. You have size, but not strength. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's a guy with size and no strength."

"I - I'm not - useless! Please, Gino, please, go easy on me!" Harold sobbed relentlessly.

"Quit ya blubberin and stand up like a man."

Still weeping, Harold tried to do as he was told. "I - I'll do anything! I'll repay you! I don't have the money yet, but I'm gonna do it soon! I swear!"

"I don't want ya money."

"You..." Harold blinked. "What do you mean, you don't want my money?"

"I said I don't want ya money, undastand?"

Harold could feel the weight in his chest beginning to lighten. Was it too good to be true? "Oh, thank you, sir, thank you, thank you!"

"Don't thank me," Gino thundered. "You're not repayin me in cash. You're gonna be doin a favuh for me. A big favuh."

Harold's heart imploded again. "A favor?" he repeated in a small voice. "What kind of favor?"

Gino snapped his fingers; his assistants dropped Harold's forearms. Gino snaked out from behind his post until he was close enough for Harold to smell the pepperoni pizza on his breath.

"I'm gonna tell you somethin, Harold Berman. I'm gonna tell you somethin as if you was a real man. And you're gonna do ya best to act like one. Undastand?"

Harold nodded vehemently. "Yeah, Big Gino, I understand, alright."

"There's a woman, Berman," Gino said, now pacing back and forth with his hands clasped behind his back. "A woman I've fallen madly in love with."

"Wow, sounds great," Harold replied, still nodding forcefully up and down.

"See, I could compare her to a summa's day."

"Yeah. That's wonderful, sir."

"Rough winds do shake the darlin buds of May. And summa's lease hath all too short a date. But her eternal summa - it shall not fade, Berman."

"Gee, she sounds, uh - she sounds real pretty."

"Long as men can breathe, or eyes can see. Long lives this, and this gives life to thee."

Gino's minions broke into applause. Harold quickly followed suit.

"Shakespeare, my good fellas," Gino told them rapturously.

"So... what do you want me to do?" Harold blurted out.

"Ya see, Berman, it's very simple," Gino said, pausing with his eyes bearing into Harold's. "I want you to help me show the woman I'm gonna marry who I am."

"Who you are?" Harold said in a high voice. He felt slightly squeamish, like he might vomit up the six-foot subway sandwich he'd had for lunch. "But... everyone in Hillwood knows who you are!"

"They knows my reputation, Berman. They knows I can kill em at the drop of a hat. They knows where the power in this city lies, like they should. But they _don't_ knows my heart."

"Well, sir, maybe that's true, sir, but-"

"I got lettas here," Gino interrupted him. He went back to his desk and fumbled through one of the drawers. When he lifted his hands again, he was holding envelope upon envelope, stack upon stack of papers. "I got lettas, and I got poems. And I want you to deliver em to the girl of my dreams. You got that?"

Harold found himself blinking again. "That's the job you want me to do?"

"That," Gino agreed definitively, closing the desk drawer with a snap, "Is the job I want you to do."

"But - that - I mean - what's the point? Why _me_? I mean, you gotta couple of muscle heads right here who could do that, easy!" He motioned helplessly towards the assistants, who looked just as lost as he did.

"Harold, Harold, Harold," Gino shook his head. "Your stupidity shines through again, my friend. Do you know what people would _say_ if they saw one of these two tryin to slip secret notes to my honey pie?"

"Well, I..."

"They all knows my businessmen, and they'd knows my businessmen was doin it for _me_! And I can't have that, Berman. Kind of woman she is - her type don't want me around, undastand? They'd tell her to keep away. Watch out for me. They'd tell her 'Gino is dangerous, Gino is tryin to hurt yous.' And then what would happen? She'd neva even give me a chance."

Harold bit down hard on his lip. "Wow, I... I guess I never thought about that."

"It's hard work bein powerful. It ain't all roses. But now you knows," Gino told him importantly. "And now, it's your job to help me. Unless," he added, "You'd ratha pay with ya blood and flesh."

"I wouldn't!" Harold said hastily. "I mean, I like my job just how it is, Big Gino."

"I'm glad ta hear that, Harold Berman."

"But if... if your... woman... sees _me_ giving her the notes, won't she...?"

"Be creative," Gino demanded. "Be smart. If she sees you, you tell hers, 'These here notes are from an anonymous benefactuh.' Whateva ya crazy brain thinks up, _don't_ blow my cova."

"Just tell me her name," Harold promised, straightening his back a little to try to match up to the significance of the mission he'd been given.

"Her name," Gino sighed, shivering slightly, as though the thought alone made him quiver. "Is Lila Sawya."


	6. That Oh So Special Someone

**A/N** : You guys are the best human beings. Thank you for being awesome cartoon-loving weirdos like me.

I guess I'm getting a little overzealous with the short timespan of these here chapter updates... but then again, curling up in my room for two days straight without going outside and/or initiating human contact means I'm ready to post it, so why the heck not?

* * *

6: That Oh So Special Someone

It was odd. But as Lila Sawyer made her way down the hallway that day, she couldn't shake the strange, tingling sensation that she was being watched.

It was an oh too silly idea, of course. She couldn't even put her finger on why she felt that way. Had she _seen_ anyone watching her, even out of the corner of her eye? No.

So she tried to put the thought out of her mind as she wandered out of her chemistry class with Nadine, delicately placing her sequined messenger bag over one shoulder. The bag, glittery and embroidered with silver hearts, had been a gift from her favorite, most special pseudo-Big-Sister of six years, Olga Pataki.

"You know, Lila, I'm really glad we have so many classes together this year," Nadine was saying.

"I'm certain that I'm glad too, Nadine," Lila told her.

They curved through the bends in the hallway, carefully dodging by other students, including an enthusiastic Chocolate Boy making out with his girlfriend near the doors to the cafeteria.

"I don't know what's going on with Rhonda these days," Nadine continued. "All she wants to do anymore is hang out with this group of total airhead seniors. All so she can try and date this guy - some hot football player. He was a lifeguard at the pool over the summer."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Yeah." The blonde-braided teenager looked slightly down in the dumps. "I just don't get her sometimes. I mean, what's so great about hanging out with football players or girls who are shallow and mean all the time, anyway?"

"You know, I'm not sure," Lila agreed, because truthfully, she wasn't.

A shadow of a smile crossed Nadine's face. "Any new guys in _your_ life lately?"

"No," Lila said, shrugging good-naturedly. "But I'm ever so certain that when that oh so special person comes along, I'll know. I'm focusing on my schoolwork for now."

"Hey, that's cool," Nadine replied, giving her a wider, appreciative smile. "That's how I feel about that stuff." She paused. "So the rumors about you and Arnold aren't true, then?"

Lila blinked at her. She was certain she had no idea what Nadine was talking about. "I'm certain I have no idea what you're talking about, Nadine."

"Oh, I dunno. I guess some people saw you guys hanging out a couple times and thought it might be, like, a thing."

"A thing?" Lila repeated.

"Yeah. You know, they thought he might _like_ you or something."

Lila giggled. "Oh, no. It's not a thing. He's a nice boy," she added kindly. "But just a friend. Not that oh so special someone."

They arrived at their lockers and began twisting the combination locks. Twelve... seven... twenty-six...

The metal door popped open. Lila looked immediately at the top shelf, where a folded piece of paper was resting precariously beside her jacket. Someone had to have slipped it inside the front grates.

"Is that a flyer for something?" Nadine asked curiously. "How come I didn't get one?"

"I don't think it's a flyer," Lila told her uncertainly, as she unfolded the paper and began to read.

* * *

Arnold's memories kept resurfacing - his mind playing dolls with the past, as though if he recalculated the moves, turned over their hazy figures enough in his brain, he might find some answer he hadn't known he was looking for.

In this particular memory, they were thirteen. It was a cool evening in the fall of eighth grade. A breeze ruffled through the yellowing trees, making the ribbon in her hair fold and rustle in the fading light. He remembered that she smelled like the cherries he'd given her for lunch, and all he wanted to do was kiss her.

They weren't going anywhere in particular. They did that frequently: took walks around the city with no destination in mind, spinning aimlessly by the jungle gym-dotted asphalt of the elementary school they'd left behind a few years prior, or wandering through the park to watch kids chasing balls across the grass. His palm brushed gently against hers in their usual way. Touching, but not quite holding hands.

She was scowling. Her unibrow creased and humid eyes narrowed as she recounted some harrowing tale about Olga's newest success story.

"What do _you_ think, Football Head?" Helga asked him, stopping to fold her arms across her chest. "Is Olga _ever_ gonna stop being such a priss? Is she ever gonna care about _anything_ except herself?" She kicked a stone in front of her with the toe of her sneaker.

"Maybe you could try talking to her more," Arnold suggested. "Maybe she really does care. But she doesn't have a starting point. It's hard to ask questions if you don't have a starting point."

Helga snorted. "That is the _stupidest_ idea you've ever had."

"It's worth trying, Helga," Arnold said hesitantly, shrugging.

"Yeah, well, I could try to talk to Olga for seventy-two hours _straight_ , and the only topic would be herself. Guarantee it."

He came closer to her, placing his hands, gently, on her shoulders. With his heart quickening in his chest, he noticed the way her mouth quivered, just slightly, in response to his touch. It sent goosebumps up and down his arms. He closed his eyes and pressed his own mouth softly to her forehead, just above her nose, where her eyebrow met in the middle.

He heard the trembling, barely audible sigh. Her body was melting into his with blindsided delight.

He opened his eyes. "Helga, I..." he started.

"What?" she asked him eagerly. "You what?"

But it was then that they heard a familiar sound nearby - a high-pitched, wind chime giggle, the kind that seemed to float by as easily as the leaves in the wind.

"Oh, Mommy, Daddy, it's so good to be home again," Olga Pataki was telling her parents. And Arnold turned to see the three of them moving down the park's gravel pathway. They were all holding hands, like a sort of twisted Brady Bunch clan missing several members. Miriam was stumbling sloppily over her feet.

"Olga," Big Bob said heartily. "It's great to _have_ you home. You're the most stinkin perfect daughter on the planet."

"You are, honey!" Miriam laughed. Mother, father, and daughter walked by without even noticing Helga, whose mouth hung slightly open as she watched her family pass.

She continued staring after them for several moments, her hands clenching into fists at her sides.

"Helga," Arnold said finally, tentatively. She ripped her gaze away from the other Patakis, now trickling off into the distance, and turned to look at him again, breathing so hard he could hear the exhalations through her nose.

" _Helga_ ," Arnold said again.

"They're such jerks."

In that moment, he wasn't making guesses. He could see the fissures in her anger - the hurt teeming hard and fast from somewhere deep, deep beyond her fury-contorted face. She had always carried it, like an ancient stubborn wallpaper that wouldn't come off no matter how many times you tried to peel it.

"I'm sorry," he told her. He reached up and brushed his fingertips against her cheek.

"Quit touching me, Arnoldo!" she snapped, leaping away from him as though he had burned her. He blinked. She began stalking off, as though she were suddenly in a hurry to get to some place or another.

"Helga, wait," he called after her, jogging to match her stride.

"I don't want to hear it. I just wanna get out of here."

"But, I..."

She turned around again to glare at him, her eyes piercing and fierce.

"I..." he continued to stammer. She was shifting in front of him, suddenly, a moving maze, or a kaleidoscope, the colors exploding and falling down in circles of dark red he realized he didn't know how to handle at all. Sweat was pooling up and trickling down his forehead. She was waiting for him. Why was she always so far ahead of him? How could she ever expect him to catch up with her, when she was always moving so much faster than he was?

His mouth opened, then closed. For the life of him, he couldn't find the words for what it was he'd felt only minutes before he had needed to say.

" _Criminy_ ," she snarled.

And, sick of standing there - tortured with impatience - she ran away.

* * *

The suds bubbled up in the sink, forming a mound of sponge rainbows. For a moment, Stella paused to watch them - lovely, frothing jungles of grease and oil and Palmolive. They squirmed and danced for a few slow seconds before disappearing down the drain. Her hands moved gracefully as she placed the last metal pot on the rack to dry, her skin pruny from the warm water.

"Looks good," Miles mused from the kitchen table, where he was sitting with a mug of Gertie's tea. "Funny how much cleaner this place looks on your dish-duty nights than when any of the other boarders are in charge of cleaning."

Stella laughed and pulled up a chair beside him. "Doing the dishes is just relaxing to me."

"I know," Miles told her. He leaned over to nuzzle his lips against her cheek. And in her mind, Stella took count of the scattering of pills on the placemat in front of him: melatonin; his selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor (Lexapro); and reliable old Vitamin D. Following her eyes to the table with his own, he collected the tablets in his hand and swallowed them with one large gulp of tea.

They sat silently for a moment, listening to the white noise of the boarders around them. Suzie and Oskar were snapping back and forth at one another in the living room, their yells rattling through the rickety walls.

"I'm worried about Arnold," Miles mumbled softly.

Stella swallowed. "I know."

"He's just not himself lately."

"He's growing up," she told him. "This is what happens when kids grow up. They date each other. And they go through breakups."

"I just wish I could do something," he continued, running a hand through his hair, which had turned from sandy to almost completely gray over the past year alone. "Something to make him feel better. It kills me to see him in pain."

"Me, too. But you can't protect someone from feeling pain, Miles. Even your son."

Miles stood up suddenly, pacing back and forth across the cracked floor tiles.

"We should plan something special for his birthday this year. Maybe a trip. We could take a family vacation to Tuscany, or Thailand. Or how about the south of France?"

"With what money?" Stella asked skeptically. She regretted it when he stopped in his tracks, shoulders sagging defeatedly and face darkening with gloom.

"Well, I'll think of something good. And affordable," he added. "Just you wait."

"I know you will," she said quietly, soothingly. "You always do, honey."

"Has Miriam told you about how Helga's doing?" Miles asked, slumping back down in his chair. Stella knew he was feeling the loss of the sharp-tongued teenager in their lives as much as she was - it was odd, to find the girl who had become something of a daughter to them over the past four years suddenly missing from every occasion she'd been a part of.

"Sort of," Stella said. She hesitated. "They have a rocky relationship - you know that. I don't think she knows a lot of what goes on in Helga's life herself. Not because she doesn't want to," she added hastily. "It's just..."

"I know," Miles completed for her. "Complicated."

"Raising a teenager seems to be," she sighed.

Miles opened his mouth, then closed it again. She could see the question swimming in his eyes, the question they couldn't seem to stop asking themselves, despite knowing that the answer would never present itself in an obvious or helpful way: _how did we get here?_

"How was work today?" he asked instead, filling the silence with his gentle voice.

The smile that spread across her face was genuine, induced by the kind of warmth that couldn't be forced from either politeness or the desire to be strong. She'd gotten her job at Hillwood Medical Center six months after awakening from her nine-year slumber - it was the only part of her life that had remained steady in the four years that followed. She worked in the maternity ward now, an assignment that infected her daily with its love and magic.

"Every day is a celebration," she told him.

He smiled back at her.

"How was the day here?" she asked, and he shrugged.

"Heard back from the Hillwood Times. They like my writing style, but turned down the idea," he paused to take another gulping sip of his tea. "Something about my column not sounding relatable enough. Guess most people don't really need advice on how to re-adjust after waking up from a ten-year nap."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart."

He tried to hide the heaviness in his sigh. "I said, 'But anyone can relate to re-adjusting. How about the sixteen million adults living with depression? How about death or addiction?' They weren't going for it."

She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. "You'll find something soon. I know you will."

"Right," Miles managed a lopsided grin. "Just have to keep trying. Keep my head on straight."

"You..." Stella began, but couldn't quite find it in her to continue: _always do_ wouldn't have been honest phrasing.

* * *

There was a struggle. But Stella was the only one who could see it.

In the dark, even while his eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, Miles would lie awake, staring up at the shadows on the cracked ceiling. They played tricks on him, those shadows. In their fragments and shifting shapes, he could make out the forms of ghosts. They rattled from the roof of the boarding house.

She would turn to face him, breathing softly. He couldn't sleep, and so, neither could she.

"Miles," she mumbled. She lifted her hands out from underneath their nest of blankets and cupped his cheeks in hers. There were embers burning in his olive eyes - the flames of anguish would rise up in them again soon.

"I failed at everything." His voice was soft, barely a whisper.

"That's not true," she told him. It was a conversation they had been having nightly. She began stroking the sweat-laced hair back from his forehead. "It's not true."

"Arnold - you - the Green Eyes - " he rattled incoherently, as though unable to hear her. "Work - you - Arnold..."

He shook his head back and forth, wriggling her palms away from him.

"I couldn't keep you safe," he continued. "I couldn't keep _him_ safe. I can't even work, Stella. I can't even find a job."

"Go to sleep," she pleaded with him quietly.

She pressed her mouth against his, grabbing onto his chest. If she could only hold him there, she thought. If she could hold him there, he might grow steady again in her grasp.


	7. Somebody Loves You

**Disclaimer (again) A/N** : These characters are not mine, and stuff.

I've been really struggling with my depression over the past week... but here's to all the beautiful, love-laden, poignant complexities of this world, and Friday coming up tomorrow (yay!). If you're reading this, I hope you're in a good place and having a good day :).

* * *

7: Somebody Loves You, But Is Too Afraid to Tell You

"You have got to be _kidding_ me, Lila." Rhonda Lloyd had both hands out in front of her as she examined her cherry-colored nail polish. The three girls sat cross-legged on Lila's lavender bedspread, drinking Sprites while the evening light splintered into the room.

"Kidding about what?" Lila returned, sounding slightly bewildered.

Rhonda sighed heavily. The notes - there were three of them now - were currently being examined by Nadine with a lighted magnifying glass, the same one she used to examine bug skeletons.

"I mean, it's all so romantic," Rhonda pouted. "How come no one's ever left anonymous love letters for _me_?"

Lila smiled sweetly, twirling the ends of her auburn hair around her finger. "Well, I'm oh too certain it could happen someday for you."

"On second thought," Rhonda continued. "Samuel doesn't really seem like the type. He'll probably want to tell me in person. He'll be all _aggressive_ about it, just like he is on the football field."

She thought she heard Nadine stifle a snicker and cast her an annoyed glare.

"I do think it's ever so dreamy," Lila admitted. There was something slightly wistful in her voice. "That writing is so beautiful. It's so special."

Nadine shook her head, evidently having had no luck with her sleuthing mission. "Well, one thing's for sure," she said, straightening her back up and placing the magnifying glass at her feet. "Whoever wrote these letters is pretty smart, which in itself eliminates about half the guys at Hillwood."

Lila offered a mumble of agreement.

"Let me see them one more time," Rhonda demanded, holding out her palm for the papers. Truthfully - she already had a pretty good idea of who the writer might be, but she did not want to give it without personally scouring all of the appropriate evidence. What was that thing Nadine was always saying about her? Something about _jumping_ _to_ _conclusions_ too quickly?

Nadine passed the letters along to her, glancing quickly behind her at Lila.

" _Beautiful_ _Lila_ ," Rhonda read aloud. " _Delicate_ , _ill_ - _illusioned_ _flower_ _of_ _my_ _despair_ ," she paused, sighing deeply. "My god, how does this guy think of this stuff? _Woman_ _of_ _the_ _world_ , _whose_ _intelligence_ _stops_ _at_ _none_ _and_ _kindness_ _exceeds all_ _else_." She paused dramatically.

"You forgot to read the ending line," Lila told her innocently, clearing having memorized the poem. " _Petite_ _cupcake_ _of_ _youth_ _whose bounties_ _of_ _sun_ \- "

"Lila, who do we know who _values_ kindness?" Rhonda interrupted her. Both Nadine and Lila looked at her blankly.

Rhonda clicked her tongue impatiently. "I think you know exactly who I'm talking about. Most boys don't value a girl with kindness, you know, as much as say, they value a girl with a great body or a girl with a fantastic eye for fashion," she flipped her hair behind her shoulder proudly. "But I _can_ think of one boy who's always valued kindness, like, an abnormal amount."

She stopped again, waiting for the girls to congratulate her on her superior reasoning and analysis skills. Instead, Lila just chewed on her lower lip, looking slightly uncomfortable.

"Alright, fine, let me read the next one," said Rhonda irritably. " _My_ _opalescent_ , _shining_ _jewel_. _You_ _are_ _the_ _ocean_ _and_ _my_ _sandstorm_ , _my_ _sky_ _and_ _my_ _stars_. _Be_ _mine_ , _and_ _I_ _will_ _be_ _forever_ _faithful_. _You_ _make_ _me_ _want_ _to_ _be_ _good_ , _Lila_ _Sawyer_."

Lila gave a high-pitched, velvety exhale. "Oh, it's ever so romantic, isn't it?"

"He makes you want to be _good_ ," Rhonda emphasized dramatically. "Now, who do we know that's good, Lila?"

Lila and Nadine looked at one another.

"Rhonda," Nadine said. "If you're driving at these notes coming from Arnold Shortman, Lila already explained that she and Arnold are just friends."

Rhonda crossed her arms over her chest, stung. "Oh, so you always have to be right, is that it, Nadine?"

"No, I don't," Nadine shot back. "I just think that since these notes were written for Lila, we should listen to what she has to say about it."

"Lila didn't say anything! Did you, Lila?"

Both girls turned to glare at the freckle-faced beauty, who looked rather alarmed.

"Well, I - no," Lila told them in a small voice. "But I don't feel that way about Arnold, and I-"

"Oh, Lila," Rhonda said, shaking her head. "Lila, Lila, Lila. I know _that_ , of course. But just because you don't feel that way about a boy doesn't mean he can't feel that way about you."

"Well-"

"And really, who could blame him? You're pretty, smart, nice. Arnold is obviously in love with you. Has been since we were little girls. Isn't it obvious?"

"Not really," Nadine retorted, rolling her eyes.

"To those of us who know _men_ , it is," Rhonda insisted proudly. "Let's read the third note, shall we?" She ripped the page out from the bottom of the pile.

"Ahem. _Lila, my love_ ," Rhonda read. " _My heart sings_ _when you're near. Fairy princess, essence of my_ _being_. _Other girls, they cannot compare to your light_. _My honey bear, sweet where all else are sour._ _Giving where all else can never be._ " She waited. "Well?"

"I'm not so certain I understand, Rhonda," Lila admitted.

" _Sour_? He's talking about _Helga_! He's sick of dating girls like her. He wants to date girls like _you_!" Rhonda smiled luminously, waiting for her winner's praise.

There was a long silence. Nadine and Lila were both staring at her, Lila's eyes widening just slightly.

"You know I'm right," Rhonda said triumphantly. But she was interrupted then as a vibrating sound buzzed from the pocket of her light pink jeans. Extracting the phone and staring excitedly at the name flashing across the screen, she began texting Kelly back without another word to the girls in front of her.

"Well, I suppose it's possible," Lila admitted at last, still sounding uncomfortable.

"Are you gonna do something about it?" Nadine asked her. "I mean, if it _is_ Arnold, that would mean the poor guy's liked you since we were, like, ten."

"Nine."

"Halloween party," Rhonda announced suddenly. Kelly and Emily wanted her to host one, and they were going to bring Samuel! She looked up from her phone, beaming. Her stomach was flipping over on itself. "My house. Next Friday. Lila, Nadine - I would just _love_ it if you graced us with your presence. What do you say, girls?"

* * *

Whoever had had the brilliant idea of pairing Jack Wittenberg and his wife up as teachers in the same freaking class was going to pay for it in their next life - if karma existed. Both Jack and Tish had been high school gym instructors for a number of years now. But never had they been matched with the same damn group of students at the same damn time. And that arrangement must have been avoided for a reason, Helga thought.

They were annoying enough separately, and a nightmare together. Stepping into the gymnasium fourth period was like walking into boot camp, because every class the students were divided into two warring groups who were forced into increasing tests of strength in response to their unstable, raging messes of teachers.

Today's torment took the form of a game of dodgeball: boys against girls. The two Wittenbergs raced up and down the court, screaming at their respective students to hurry up and beat the crap out of each other.

Helga, at least - despite her annoyance at both Tish and Jack - did not have to be told twice.

"OW! HELGA HIT ME IN THE EYE!" Harold whined from the other side of the court.

"Hitting people is the whole point of the game, you idiotic oaf!" she screamed back. Jack Wittenberg blew his whistle.

"FOUL!" he yelled. "Tish, you tell your team members to play by the rules or don't play at all!"

"They ARE playing by the rules!" Tish shot back.

"Well, tell them to play by the rules BETTER!"

"I think you just don't wanna admit that my girls are a hundred times better than your boys and could kick their butts in a second!"

"You take that back, Tish!"

"YOU take it back!"

Helga rolled her eyes, muttering a few choice curse words under her breath. She was trying her hardest not to stare at the left hand side of the court, where a certain golden-haired boy was standing guard, twiddling his thumbs up against the elastic waistband of his gym shorts rather than attempting to hit anyone with the ball. He could be competitive enough - when it came to pickup games of baseball or soccer or track - but dodgeball was a different story. _Of course_ , Helga found herself thinking against her will, her heart crashing against her chest in a firestorm of despair. _You're too good, too moral_ , _too kind-hearted for such animalistic displays of aggression, my love -_

Lost in thought, she nearly missed the blue foam ball that came sailing towards her and would have smacked her in the forehead had she not whipped her eyes upward just in time. She caught the ball with one hand, laughing derisively.

"Yeah, nice try, Curly!" she screeched, offering her crazed best friend a mocking grin as he stalked off the court. Behind her, she realized, not many of her teammates were left to bear the brunt of the rest of the game with her. Only Big Patty, a bulky-armed junior, and Helga remained in the match, compared with the ten or so boys across from them.

Thinking fast, Helga backpedaled on the balls of her feet and motioned for the other girls to join her in a huddle.

"This is the strategy," she muttered. "None of that 'hold back and try to catch it' crap. Just. Get. The. Ball. And beat the shit out of them. Okay?"

Shrugging, Patty and the junior offered their mumbles of agreement.

The balls on the opposite side of the court gradually made their ways back as the boys tried - one by one, unsuccessfully - to get the girls out of the game.

Once they had all of the balls in hand, Helga gave the other girls a nod. They nodded back at her before assailing the opposing team, pelting them with the foam spheres in droves until Sid was the last one on the court and sustained a blow to his abdomen.

"Curses upon you!" Sid screeched as Tish blew on her whistle. The girls on the side of the gymnasium broke out in cheers and wolf whistles, rushing onto the court to high-five their teammates who had led them to such a glorious and unexpected victory. Jack Wittenberg was holding his temples and screaming at his team members.

"HEY, YOU THREE!" Tish yelled as Helga was making her way towards the water jug, wiping the sweat from her matted hair. Tish nodded at her and motioned for Patty and the tall junior to join her. "And you, too!" Tish added to Nadine, who had been the last one on their team knocked out with a ball. The four girls glanced at one another before shuffling over to where their teacher stood next to the basketball nets.

"Okay, I got an important mission for ya," Tish told them, pacing back and forth across the waxed floor. Helga drummed her fingers impatiently against her thighs. "Hillwood is gonna be forming its very first girls' lacrosse team in the spring, and I'm going to be coaching it," she continued. "I need you three to agree to be team members."

"Lacrosse?" the bulky junior repeated, looking somewhat bewildered.

"That's right, lacrosse. And you gotta be on the team, and we gotta start training right away. You know, ASAP. I'm talking heavy duty conditioning. I'm talking suicides, gymnasium skill sessions, the whole nine yards. None of you Hillwood kids have ever touched a dang lacrosse stick in your life. We need all the training we can get."

"Gee, Tish," Helga said sweetly. "Would we get to wear a little skirt and Spandex shorts, like they do on TV?"

"Well, yeah."

"You know, I think I'm actually busy this spring."

Tish frowned. "Well, that's too bad, Pataki, cause I need you. C'mon, it'll look good on college applications and... stuff. Besides, you haven't even tried it yet. An angry kid like you... you'll freaking love running around threatening people with a huge stick."

Helga raised her eyebrow. "More than I love sitting on my couch watching WrestleMania reruns?"

"I'll do it, Ms. Wittenberg," Nadine said, holding her hand out and shaking Tish's as though negotiating a business deal.

"Done and done," Tish told her proudly, shaking back. She turned towards Big Patty, who was rubbing her elbow awkwardly.

"Sure," Patty told her at last. "Why not?"

The junior at her side shrugged and agreed.

Tish faced Helga again, eyes round and pleading. "Come on, kid," she begged her. "This is gonna be worth it, you'll see. We'll all do it together. We're gonna prove how strong we are."

Helga found her eyes straying again towards Arnold, who was now slumped against the wall, downing a bottle of water. Sweat glimmered on his dewey skin under the hot gymnasium lights.

"Fine," Helga sighed, finally, folding her arms across her chest. "You wanna recruit me for your little experiment? It's not like I have anything better to do."

Tish smiled widely just as the first bell rang, signaling to the students that it was time for them to go ahead and get ready for their next class.


	8. Ain’t the Heartache

**A/N** : Happy Sunday. X

* * *

8: Ain't the Heartache That I Thought I Knew

"Oh, honey," Stella Shortman was musing, her eyes filled with inexplicable pride. "A Halloween party, huh? You're going to have a nice time."

"You'll have a blast," Miles added. "A real ball!"

Arnold rubbed the back of his shoulder with one hand. He couldn't make sense of the slightly crazed look on his father's face - so he merely offered a small smile instead, nodding as though he, too, was desperately looking forward to Rhonda Lloyd's Halloween bash. He allowed both of his parents to kiss him stickily before he zipped up his jacket and headed out into the streets.

The wind was howling and sky darkening to black by the time Arnold reached the front stoop of Gerald's house. He buried his hands inside the pockets of his jacket as he waited, teeth clattering in the wake of the sudden cold snap.

"Hey, man, took you long enough," Gerald greeted him, opening the door to let him inside and through the mud room.

Timberly was carving a pumpkin in the kitchen, her tongue sticking out of her mouth in concentration. The floor was littered with seeds and guts, their tangled strands forming sticky webs that the boys had to tiptoe over as they made their way across the tiles.

"Looks good, Tim," Arnold told her. "Scary."

Timberly whipped around and smiled at him sweetly, face brightening. "Oh, hi, Arnold. Thanks."

"What are you gonna wear tonight?" Gerald asked, surveying Arnold's flannel and jeans. "You can't go in that. Rhonda said we all have to have costumes."

"I know, but I couldn't think of anything."

"Mm, mm, _mm_ ," Gerald said, shaking his head. "Well, we'll have to make a ghost out of you. Or something. I'm going as a blood sucking zombie. Timberly, can we borrow your face paint?"

"Only if I can come to the party!" she told him eagerly. "Can I?"

"No!"

"Why not?" she pouted.

"Because. It's for high schoolers. No way Rhonda would be okay with my seventh-grade sister showing up."

Timberly looked extra mopey as she stabbed her jack o' lantern again with the carving knife. "Fine. But if you're gonna use my makeup, then I want five dollars. I paid good money for that color set."

"Yeah yeah, alright," Gerald said, rolling his eyes. "Come on, man, let's go get ready."

They traipsed up the stairs. Truthfully, Arnold wasn't particularly excited about the night ahead of them. It wasn't that he disliked Halloween - but rather that he didn't think a huge high school party filled with hormone-induced madness would really be his kind of thing. Admittedly, though, he hadn't been invited to a party like this before. Come to think of it, he hadn't been invited to any event of Rhonda Lloyd's in several years.

"Do you think there'll be a lot of people there?" he wondered out loud. Gerald was rifling through his dresser drawers in search of a white T-shirt for Arnold's ghost outfit.

"No idea," Gerald returned. "Phoebe seemed to think there would be."

Arnold tried to hide his slightly exasperated exhale.

"Maybe you'll have some fun tonight," Gerald said, wiggling his eyebrows. "Find a cute girl dressed up like a leopard, or something like that."

"A leopard?"

"I dunno. Don't girls like dressing up like leopards on Halloween?"

"Not sure. Maybe." He tried to hold still as Gerald neared his face with Timberly's makeup brush, preparing to paint him in a mask of white.

"You gotta let go, Arnold. You know that."

"I know," Arnold said quickly. "Of course I know that."

"Feel the vibe. Go with the flow. And don't think about -"

"I know," Arnold repeated, fingernails digging into his thighs. "Yeah, I know."

"Stop shaking like that, or I'm gonna accidentally dig this brush into your eye."

"It's just so frustrating, Gerald. Of all the years of - the torture, and abuse, and then she just - without even - and..."

"We're headed down this path again, aren't we?" Gerald said, shaking his head.

"No, no, we're not," Arnold said, running his hands through his hair. "Never mind."

"Look," Gerald said, a bit more quietly this time. "I understand how you feel. I do. It's just - this is always the way you've been, man. You mull over situations forever. She wanted what she wanted. You respect that, don't you?"

"Yeah," Arnold replied immediately. He didn't know how to voice the thought that had been keeping him awake for nights on end: the feeling that it wasn't really what she wanted, and he knew it. Was that true? Or was it not true? Did he know her as well as he'd always thought he had? Or was his own heart getting in the way again, clamoring in futile hope for a girl who was and always would be an unsolved mystery; a girl who'd moved on a long time ago?

"You just gotta remember," Gerald told him wisely, on sage-advice mode again. "If you keep reopening a wound, it's never gonna get the chance to heal. You think you're not ready, but sometimes it's not about being ready. You hafta take the leap, or nothing's ever gonna change at all."

* * *

Harold Berman was trembling slightly as he stepped into the foyer of the Lloyd house. The note in his pocket felt heavy, somehow. His plan was to slip it into the purse of its intended recipient.

"Harold, dear!" Rhonda greeted him upon his arrival. "Smashing zombie costume. How simply charming of you to come."

Harold gathered that she'd had a few drinks, given that she barely even talked to him ordinarily - much less referred to him as dear. She stood up on tiptoe to give him a kiss on the cheek. He placed a hand to his skin where her lips had touched him, his face burning.

"Oh yeah, I mean, uh - thanks," he stuttered. "Hey, are there gonna be any snacks at this thing?"

"Of course. Right inside."

"Oh, great. I'm starved. There a lotta people in there yet?" he added. "Like say, uh, that one friend of yours, Lila Sawyer?"

"There are tons of people," Rhonda told him, smiling. "Yes, Lila's in there. Having a couple of drinks and being her sweet little self. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason," Harold said, rubbing his elbow nervously. "It's not like I'm gonna get smashed up like a cream puff if I don't make sure she doesn't hook up with any random guys tonight, if that's what you were thinkin."

"Huh?" Rhonda looked completely bewildered.

Harold gave an anxious chuckle. "Well, see ya around!" he called casually before turning to make his way towards the living room, where music was beating like a pulse.

* * *

"Hey, babe! Hot devil horns."

The third rando of the night to approach Helga Pataki was already drunk off his ass - and it was only ten PM.

"God damn it, Pheebs," Helga muttered under her breath, after she'd decked the guy and sent him sailing into the wall for good measure. "Can we go home yet?" she asked rhetorically.

Phoebe - looking simply adorable in her historically accurate Sacajawea costume - appeared to be having the time of her life. And all she was even doing was making small talk with a kid she'd said was in her global history class, who'd come to the party dressed in some indecipherable outfit that included multiple swords.

Helga, on the other hand, was already ready to pound a hole in the wall with her fists. She stood scowling in the corner of the room, returning to the refreshments table every now and then to grab another handful of chips. One too many horny boys had come up to her to compliment her on her costume, or - in the latest sorry case - actually dare to try to press his sweaty body against hers. The nerve of these creeps.

Beyond that, the throbbing music was giving her a headache. So were the droves of Hillwood students, seemingly increasing in number by the minute as they trickled through Rhonda Lloyd's living room like members of an ant farm headed towards a castle of crumbs. The refreshments table was adorned with the Lloyds' expensive Portuguese vases, as well as ceramic bowls of chips, spiked punch, and an assortment of fancy dessert liqueurs that Helga could only assume Rhonda had stolen from some secret stash belonging to her parents. Rhonda's mother and father were currently vacationing in Prague, a fact the dark-haired beauty had mentioned importantly to every guest who walked through her front door.

" _Helga_ , darling!" a familiar, irritatingly cheerful voice called out behind her. Helga turned in time to see the hostess herself stumbling towards her, obviously buzzed. She was wearing sequined cat ears and leggings paired with a silver bra, showing off her toned abdomen.

" _Helga, darling_?" Helga repeated, scoffing. "Yeah, hi, Princess."

" _Cute_ outfit. Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Sorta," Helga told her, downing another several chips.

"Well, it's simply a pleasure to have you," Rhonda promised stickily.

"Right. Where are people I know, anyway? Like... Tall Hair Boy and his sidekick the Football Head, for example?" she asked, trying to feign casualty.

"Oh, they're here... somewhere." The wink Rhonda gave her was maddening. But before Helga could respond, a tall, tanned boy appeared, stooping to hand Rhonda a red solo cup.

"Awesome party, beautiful," he told her approvingly. Rhonda blinked at him before throwing her head back and erupting in giggles.

"Thanks, Samuel," she responded, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him closer to the center of the room, where throngs of kids were in varying stages of make-out sessions and public displays of sexual excitement.

Helga glared at them for a moment before clenching her hands into fists at her sides and forcing her way through the maze of heated bodies.

She didn't stop until she had arrived at the Lloyds' back porch. Pushing open the sliding glass door and taking in a gulp of the cool evening air, she sighed angrily. At least out here she finally felt like she could begin to breathe.

She was so caught up in recovering from the exhaustion of the scene she'd left behind that it took a moment before she noticed the black-haired boy slumped over one of the round mesh patio tables, his head resting in his arms. The handmade wings strapped to his back suggested that he was meant to be dressed as a bird - or maybe an insect of some sort - or a tooth fairy?

"Curly?" she gaped at him. "Didn't know you were even invited to this shindig."

Curly drew his head up to look at her. If he was surprised to see her, his face didn't show it. "I'm a person, too. Is that so hard to believe?"

"Yeah, kind of," Helga admitted, shrugging. She'd never been one to beat around the bush.

She hoped Curly would be offended and shoot back with an off-color remark.

But it was worse. He looked down at his hands instead, biting on his lower lip. "I don't know why I was invited. It's not like she's even bothered to acknowledge my presence."

"What - you mean in between the hours acknowledging her own stunning reflection in the mirror?"

"It's not funny."

"Okay, okay." She sat down in the wicker chair across from him, noting the crushed beer can at his fingertips. "Look, she's probably just... stressed out. She's got a lotta people milling around and having orgies in her house right now," she said reasonably.

"She doesn't even like me, Helga. She doesn't even want me as a friend. She doesn't want me as anything."

Helga chewed on her own lip, feeling her heart swell up in her chest. "I mean... you don't _know_ that."

"Did you see the way she was hanging all over that Samuel guy?" Curly demanded bitterly.

Helga sighed again. "Yeah, I guess I did."

"That's what she wants."

"Maybe."

"It's what she wants, Helga!"

She threw up in her arms in frustration. "Then let her want that! I mean, Jesus, you could do so much better. You're caring, funny, smart. What does Rhonda have that you find so _irresistible_ , anyway? Other than unbelievable selfishness and an acute knack for forcing even people who were previously indifferent to hate her," she added.

Curly looked away from her and out at the Lloyds' sprawling backyard. The perfectly cut grass quivered in the breeze, garden of crimson tulips by the oak tree following suit.

"I love her," he said finally. His voice was quiet, but steady in its finality. From inside, they both heard the music change to some popular song that elicited an eruption of cheers from the drunken party-goers. "Is that so hard for you to understand?"

Helga wished the aching in her chest would go away. But it didn't. It grew stronger, fanned by the flames of the October wind and the familiar sight of those wells of eyes across from her: broken, coal-black.

"No," she told him at last. "It isn't."

Curly rested his forehead in his hands again, breathing quietly.

"Listen, Curly," Helga continued. "I get that you're upset. You're heartbroken, prolly. Feeling like a real pathetic wimp, right about now."

"Takes one to know one."

"Not really," Helga said, squeezing the skin on her elbow and trying to look offended rather than anxious.

"Oh, yeah? Built any new shrines lately? Sacrificed the blood of any lambs to the Arnold gods of-"

"Shut up." Her voice was even as she extracted her hands from her pockets and propped her cheeks up in them. She could feel her face getting hot.

The look he cast her then was uncharacteristically gentle, full of sympathy. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Helga cut him off.

"Look, Curly, but I've been thinking. And we don't have to be like this tonight, okay?"

"We don't?"

"No." She shook her head furiously. "I mean, think about all those... fun people in there. They're just having a good time, and you and me? We could be like that, if we really wanted to. All carefree, and stupid, and shit like that."

"We could?"

"Yeah," she said impatiently. "We could."

She seized him by the hand, feeling his cold, leathery skin under her fingertips.

"Let's go." Her voice was bold - much more confident than she felt on the inside. "Let's just get on back in there, alright? It's gotta beat moping around out here like a couple of whiny losers."

Curly followed her sideways through the sliding doors, like a puppy blindly following its owner. She felt her resolve harden as they pushed their way back through the still-growing throng of teenagers, dancing and laughing and kissing one another, heads clouded up with obvious delight.

"Ya know, maybe you're right," Curly was muttering at her side. "Maybe-"

But Helga had stopped in her tracks. The world around her turned icy, her body flooding with a kind of numbing dread.

They had run straight into Arnold. His nose was inches from Lila Sawyer's, his hands nearing her waist as she smiled at him, sparkling white teeth shining. Her lips found his in the dim light, and then she was giggling, whispering in his ear, like she was extracting some promise Helga had prayed she would never have to overhear.

* * *

Eugene Horowitz was out of his element.

Admittedly, of course, it didn't take a lot to make him feel that way. He'd already learned from his first fifteen years and eight months on earth that he just wasn't all that high-performing in social scenes - not unless they involved a group of Mathletes team members, or wild speculation over the special effects used during the filming of Star Wars to achieve the look of highly realistic anti gravitational tumbling on the planet Alderaan.

Anyway, the scene in front of him almost certainly did not qualify as something he would excel in. In fact, he was morally opposed to everything about it, from his intense proximity to half-naked teenagers practically fondling one another in public to the heavy scent of marijuana wafting through the living room to the crushed cans of beer and huge bowls of spiked punch he could see on the refreshments table.

No, he didn't want to be here.

But desperate times called for desperate measures. And, well, Eugene was desperate. That much was the simple truth.

"Horowitzzzzzz! Didn't expect to see you here, man!" a voice rang out loudly, followed by a couple of snickers.

Eugene turned in horror and disgust towards its source: Wolfgang Walker, the quarterback of the Hillwood football team. The same Wolfgang who'd shoved Eugene in the cafeteria in the eighth grade, sending him facefirst into his macaroni and cheese and effectively making him the laughingstock of the school for a good three and a half hours. The same Wolfgang who'd... no, he couldn't. He couldn't go there. Not now.

All thoughts of malice and undue aggression, however, seemed to be far from Wolfgang's mind as he ambled over and clapped Eugene roughly on the back, smelling like alcohol and cologne and wearing his usual Cheshire grin that seemed to charm the daylights out of female recipients for reasons Eugene would never understand.

"Looking good, dude, looking good," Wolfgang told him, running one hand through his short blonde hair.

"Um," Eugene replied uncertainly, "Thanks, Wolfgang."

"Hey, look, man, long as you're here," Wolfgang continued, placing an arm around Eugene's shoulder and leading him away from the buzzing living room and down a slightly quieter hallway, "Wonder if I could ask you a couple questions."

Eugene winced. They were stepping over beer puddles, plastic cups, and even a couple of bodies on the floor - what he could only assume were wayward partygoers who'd had a little too much to drink. The music pounding through his ears only added to his mounting nauseous headache.

"Questions?" Eugene repeated.

Wolfgang laughed. Eugene furrowed his eyebrows, bewildered.

"Yes, quesssssttiions," Wolfgang slurred. "Questions about your hot little friend and what it's gonna take for her to - you know - "

"No, I don't know," Eugene said, but his blood was beginning to boil.

"Course you do," Wolfgang said, removing his arm and giving the red-headed boy a little punch on the shoulder. "Have you seen her yet tonight or not? Little Sheena looks hot as shit, wearing her tight little number. What's it gonna take for me to get in on that?"

Eugene felt his heart hammering in his chest, an angry heat rushing to his face. "Sheena will never..." he yelled, but then just mouthed wordlessly, unable or unwilling to continue. He swallowed instead. "And you just - don't even - stay away- and - don't touch her, okay?"

For a moment, Wolfgang just stared at him, like he was waiting for more.

Then he grinned again and gave Eugene another clap on the back, like they were good pals enjoying one another's company.

"Whatever you say, fag," Wolfgang said in a voice that made Eugene's stomach churn, and without another word, he went off again towards the throng in the other room.

"Sheena's mom would be having an aneurism right about now," he mumbled to himself, slumping with his back against the wall. This kind of behavior was precisely what had served as the motivating factor for him to come here tonight.

"Eugene?" came another voice, high-pitched and disbelieving, suddenly right next to him in the hallway. "What are you doing here?" Sheena demanded.

Next thing he knew, she was grabbing his shoulders with both hands and forcing him to look up at her. He blinked rapidly as he took in her platinum blonde wig and tiny dress that just barely covered her thighs. She wore a pair of strappy black shoes on her feet, which added a good three inches to her height.

"I..." he mumbled, lost for words. "I... what, I'm not allowed to enjoy a good party now and then like every other teenager does?" he chuckled nervously.

"No," Sheena hissed impatiently. "You've never even been to a birthday party that didn't involve pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey or your mom's low-fat cream cheese celery snacks."

"Well, I'm turning over a new leaf!"

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, and now how about you tell me why you're really here?"

Eugene hesitated. At last he decided on the truth, if only because nothing much else made sense, and Sheena knew it. "I was worried about you," he admitted sheepishly. "I - just - don't go anywhere without a friend tonight, okay? It doesn't have to be me. Just - someone."

The look she gave him was long and confused. It was several moments before she reached out and brushed her fingers against his, breathing rapidly.

"I won't," she promised finally. "I'm with you."


	9. Made of Pure Steel

**Author's Note** : Thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who has taken the time to review this story, whether positively or negatively. You're all so awesome and I love you so much. Kay, this is the end of my Miss America speech. (But seriously, I do love you).

* * *

9: Made of Pure Steel

Why _had_ she done it?

Lila couldn't stop asking herself the question as she lay there in her bed, waiting for the sun to rise. The enticing scent of fried eggs and baked beans wafted through from the kitchen, where her father was cooking breakfast.

And still, she felt far from arriving at a good answer.

Lila knew. She had known, even in the heat of the moment and the tipsy vibrations of her sweet Limoncello-induced pleasure, the first alcoholic beverage she'd ever consumed, that she didn't like Arnold. Not that way. She never had.

But there was one thing. Rhonda had all but convinced her that the likelihood of Arnold having written those lovely, oh-too-romantic notes trumped the likelihood of the writer being anyone else. And if that were the case, well, then Nadine was right, wasn't she?

Nadine and Rhonda were both right, Lila thought. Arnold Shortman had possibly been pining for her since they were nine years old; had never given up on her, even all the while he moved on to dating the only girl who'd ever shown an interest.

 _Perhaps_ , Lila thought, as guilt stabbed at her heart. Perhaps she had been ever so wrong, to turn him down so many times, all those years ago. Perhaps Arnold was something special. Perhaps these letters, the ones he might be sending to her now, were proof of that.

If it were true, all of it, then she owed it to him to give him the chance. So, in those dark, chaotic moments of the party, she'd kissed him. He was a nice boy, really. And maybe, there was more to him than she'd previously seen.

* * *

"CRADLE, PATAKI! THERE YA GO, KID! CRADLE! YOU GOTTA GET THIS ONE FOR YOUR TEAM!"

Vision blurring slightly, Helga darted her way through the cluster of purple-pinny-draped, mock-opposing team members. They were surrounding her on all sides, so far gone were her own practice team members, who were no match for the likes of Big Patty or Daphne, the junior girl, on defense. Helga was barely aware of where she was going. She felt the moment rather than planned it: saw the small opening in space, flung back her stick, and shot the ball straight into the mesh net in a rage-induced display of strength.

"THAT'S IT, HELGA! PATTY, BLOCK ER GOOD NEXT TIME! USE YOUR WHOLE BODY IF YOU NEED TO!" Tish screamed, blowing her whistle.

The up-and-coming Hillwood girls' lacrosse team stumbled over to the side of the gymnasium, where their water bottles lay in a haphazard heap. They had been using the gym at the nearest elementary school, P.S. 118, for several weeks now. The high school's gymnasium was booked up for various other sports - namely, rained-in cheerleading and football practices - until the end of the fall; once winter approached, it would be used for basketball. P.S. 118 was their only hope for a regular practice spot until the spring.

"Alright, ladies!" Tish hollered, pacing back and forth across the court, as was her wont. "What are your motivational words for today?"

"Let's blow this popsicle stand?" Helga suggested.

"Clever, Helga. Real clever."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

"Come on, girls, what are your motivational words?!" Tish demanded impatiently.

Patty rubbed the back of her arm, casting a shy glance around her. "How about…. um… it's not a quote… but you're all great lacrosse players, and I think we can do this. You know, once the spring comes, and we start playing against real teams and stuff. I think we can kick those other girls' butts, you know?"

"Hell yeah we can," Nadine said, nodding encouragingly, and the others echoed her with sentiments of agreement

"Alrighty then. STICKS IN!" Tish screamed. Helga resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she pointed the slightly battered loaner stick towards the center of the teepee the other girls were forming with their nets and metal rods.

"On three. One… two… three… HILLWOOD!"

Helga kept her head cast down towards the ground as she made her way out of the gymnasium, too tired to head to the locker room and change out of her shorts with her team members.

Leaves were swirling outside in the curling autumn wind, but the cold that bit at her felt like a breath of relief against her sweat-plastered skin. She made the decision to trek home rather than wait for the next bus. The thought of stomaching a ride home, in such close quarters with more _people_ , was simply too much to bear.

Her lacrosse stick bounced lifelessly against the cracked sidewalk. Her organs felt frozen up, as though she'd swallowed a bottle of bleach. An entire week had passed since Rhonda's Halloween party. And still, her distress didn't feel any nearer to subsiding. All she could think about was Arnold, mashing his lips all over Lila Sawyer's, wrapping his arms around her perfect tiny waist and… who did that stupid Football Head think he _was_ , anyway? How dare he really do something like this to her?

Helga kicked every stone in her pathway as she turned onto her street, her heart knotted up in her chest. She wanted to take solace in the fact that at least she'd been the one to break things off with Arnold. No one could say the boy had dumped _her_ for greener pastures, now could they? No, she'd made that decision, as far as anyone else was concerned. Try as she might, though, nothing could provide her with any source of comfort. She was too miserable to consider whether the initial humiliation had been hers or his. All she wanted was to fall off the face of the planet; better yet, for Little Miss Perfect and Arnold to fall off the place of the planet, and for everyone around them, most especially Helga, to forget that they'd ever existed.

When she finally arrived home, she fumbled with her house key and opened the front door to find her mother slumped over at the bottom of the staircase, looking vaguely like the victim of a domestic crime or an armed robbery.

"Miriam!" Helga snapped. Her mom jumped and fumbled quickly for her glasses, which had fallen off her face and hung precariously from the collar of her dress.

"Wha… who's there?"

"Miriam, get _up_."

"Oh, it's just you, honey!" her mother slurred. "How was school?"

Helga slammed the door shut behind her, tossing the items in her hands to the floor. She grunted under her breath as she moved towards the kitchen in search of a snack. "School was okay. So was practice. Guess you never wondered about that gigantic stick I've been lugging around for God knows how long now, huh?"

"What?" Miriam yawned, blinking and following her daughter into the next room. "Oh, yeah. That is a pretty big stick, sweetie."

"Your girl's an athlete now," Helga announced. She began to tear into the slightly stale, half-empty bag of potato chips at the back of the cupboard. "Ya know, all official and everything."

"Oh, how nice!"

"I guess so. Hey," she added suddenly, swallowing the salt in her mouth. "Mom, wasn't Olga supposed to come by with Mina today?"

"Mina?" Miriam repeated blankly.

"Your _granddaughter_. Marina. Olga told Dad they were coming down tonight for dinner, remember?"

"Oh, Mina, right! Well, goodness, I wonder what we can cook." Her mother opened the refrigerator and began staring motionlessly at its contents, which appeared to include a carton of milk, a package of pre-sliced cheese, and not much else.

Helga slapped a hand to her forehead. "Oh criminy, Miriam. I'll order a pizza."

"You will? Oh, great. Thank you, honey."

"Just drink some water, alright, and sober yourself up a little, or there are gonna be temper tantrums again. And whatever you do, _don't_ mention that you haven't been going to AA. Got that?"

"Oh, yes... got it."

"I mean it, Mom. Who knows if your princess is ever gonna forgive you if you don't put up a good enough show."

"Of course, of course," Miriam nodded forcefully, now looking a bit more awake as she seemed to recall the outcome of the last visit the Patakis had had with their grown daughter.

Helga grabbed a glass from above the sink, filled it with water, and forced it up to her mom's lips, clicking her tongue impatiently.

XxX

"Oh, baby _sister_."

Olga was practically screeching as she reached for Helga. She looked, irrevocably, like an eagle swooping down on its prey. She pressed two gummy kisses against each of Helga's cheeks, leaving the latter girl with lipstick stains all over her face. Helga scowled as she wiped furiously at her skin.

"I'm just so happy to see you," Olga continued, clasping her hands together. "My baby, and my baby sister, together! We're together in one beautiful house again. Isn't it just fantastic?" She wiped a tear from her perfect porcelain skin.

Helga looked grudgingly at the two-year-old smiling in the arms of Olga's husband, Ricky. They were sickening, the three of them: sickeningly attractive, sickeningly wealthy, sickeningly sweet with one another. They were like members of some freaking robotic Stepford family.

Still, although she'd never, ever admit it out loud, there was one horrible truth about all of this: Helga was completely and madly in love with her niece, Mina. For one thing, the little girl hadn't yet learned to be anywhere near as obnoxious as her mother. Better yet, she actually _liked_ Helga, a first for a human being with Pataki genes.

"Pizza's getting cold, you guys," Helga mumbled, casting a casual glance at her niece, who was curling one of her butter-blonde curls around a chubby finger and making fish faces at her.

"Aunty Elga, Aunty Elga," Marina cheered, now furling and unfurling her hands over and over in anticipation.

"Oh, alright, no need to start whining," Helga told her, trying her best to hide her smile. She scooped her away from Ricky. Marina was getting so big, her warm body growing by the day. Helga breathed in the scent of her oceanic hair and rainwater skin; Mina giggled happily and nuzzled her head into her aunt's chest.

"Come on, Mina," Helga said, kissing the little girl discretely on the forehead. "It's time to get some pizza."

She pulled Mina into her lap as they all sat down at the kitchen table, pulling slices from the cardboard box at its center. Bob grabbed two and began shoving them in his mouth at once, while Miriam twirled her fork across her plate, struggling to keep her eyes open. Helga grabbed a slice of pepperoni for herself and a plain one for Mina, who began nibbling at the crust with her front teeth.

"So, Ricky," Bob thundered over a mouthful of oily cheese. "Stocks still booming?"

Helga rolled her eyes. Ricky Warren, investment banker at some high-up corporation or another, did _something_ pertaining to stocks for a living. She wasn't sure what, and she was pretty sure her father didn't really understand, either. He just liked to broach the topic again and again because Ricky's job involved making lots of money, something Big Bob loved to ask and hear about.

"Oh, of course, sir. I'm busy. But I always make time for my two beautiful ladies," Ricky offered a white-toothed grin. Helga gagged into her glass of Coke, still holding Marina tightly with one arm.

"Good to hear, good to hear," Bob told him proudly.

"And you, Mr. Pataki? Big Bob's Emporium still doing well?"

"Oh, yeah. Ever since we started selling cellphones – everything's been great. Smartest business move I ever made."

"Oh, absolutely, couldn't agree more," Ricky agreed, nodding vigorously. "And you, Helga? School still going well?"

"Oh, it's just wonderful, Ricky," she sneered.

"Helga's such a good student, aren't you, baby sister?" Olga gushed. "You should see her writing. She's just a _fantastic_ writer."

"Are you?" Ricky asked. Helga began to stutter out a contrarian retort, but Marina, thankfully, chose that moment to begin whining loudly.

"Dessert, Mommy!" she begged, flailing her tiny fists in the air. "Dessert?"

"Oh, no, Marina, darling," Olga said. "Not here."

"I'll take her, Olga," Helga offered, seizing on her opportunity to leave the table and standing up swiftly while Marina dribbled pizza grease down her elbow. "I can take her to Slausen's for some ice cream. I still get a discount there, ya know."

"Ice cream!" Marina chanted excitedly.

"Lemme just go grab my jacket."

She plopped her niece into Olga's arms and exited the kitchen. As she charged up the stairs, her cell phone began to ring. She glanced at the name on the screen and picked up in a hurry.

"Hey… yeah, I'm fine, Phoebe, of course I'm fine!" she hissed into the receiver. "I already told you, I've never been more okay. Why wouldn't I be? No, I couldn't care _less_ if Arnold wants to – oh, hang on a sec, Pheebs." She picked up the blinking call on the other side. "Yeah, Curly? What's up? You got em?"

She couldn't help it. She cackled, a dark, evil cackle, the laughter distracting her from the throbbing pain in her chest, if only for a brief moment.

"Twenty-seven dune geckos?" she repeated, voice full of zeal. "No, no, don't bring em to school, not yet," she instructed him. "Hold on to them – feed them – I have no idea, Curly, how should I know how you take care of dune geckos?! What do you think I am, a zookeeper? Just don't let those lizards die! We're gonna unveil them, kid, when it's time."

She thrust her phone back into the pocket of her jeans and hurried up to her room for her jacket.

* * *

"The negligence! The idiocy! How could you be so _careless_ as ter let this happen!"

Harold fumbled backwards in the dark garage, hands trembling as the voice thundered above him. "Aw, c'mon, Gino, please! Nothing happened!"

"Nothin happened? Nothin happened? Do you think I don't knows, Berman? Do you think Gino don't knows everything that happens in this here city?"

"But it wasn't my fault!"

"Not your fault, eh?"

"No! Lila… she just went and kissed him! It was all dark and stuff! There was nothin I could do about it!"

Big Gino glared at him with hawk-like eyes. "You had one job, Berman. _One_ job! Am I wrong?"

"Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir," Harold moaned.

"So yous admit it. Yous admit that you screwed this up."

"I—"

"And what am I supposed to do about this? Do you undastand the heartbreak this has caused me?"

"Yes, sir, I—"

"Do you undastand the misery I have felt as I lie awake in bed, night afta night, weepin a watafall of tears and askin God, why, God, why me?"

"Oh, yeah, sure," Harold nodded seriously. "That must be painful. Real painful. Anyway, sorry about that, Gino. Guess you're gonna give up on Lila and won't be needing my help anymore, huh?"

"My friend," Gino began, lips pursing. "Big Gino does not _give_ _up_."

"He doesn't?" Harold asked nervously.

"Oh, no. No, no, no. He doesn't."

"Oh, of course. Well I, uh—"

"Harold, Lila Sawya and that football-headed-kid are gonna be _datin_ now, am I right?"

"Well, Gino, sir, I wouldn't exactly know if—"

"Of course they are," Gino roared. "Lila Sawya is classy. Lila Sawya ain't the kind of girl who just hooks _up_ with people."

"She's not?" Harold asked weakly.

"No, Berman. She ain't. If she's gonna kiss him, she's gonna date him. And you listen to me – it's gonna be your job to make sure that date don't go so smooth."

"It is?"

"Yes," Gino said impatiently, throwing his hands down on his desk so hard the drawers came flying out. "It is. And you're gonna do _exactly_ as I say to impede the progess of that date. You got that?"

"Oh, yeah," Harold murmured. "'Course. That date's gonna be a disaster with me around, you'll see. Whatever you want, sir."

"You betta believe it. Whateva Big Gino wants, Big Gino gets," Gino said coolly, and with that, he rubbed his hands together and launched into a rundown of his plan.

* * *

 _Call her. Don't call her. Call her. Don't call her. Call her._

 _No, don't, you nut job._

Groaning, Arnold Shortman closed out of Lila's name in his list of contacts and put down his phone for the seventh time inside of an hour. He was sitting with his head propped up in his hands, notebook and used copy of Great Expectations lying open on his desk. Try as he might, he hadn't been able to focus on the newest paper for Mr. Turner's class all week.

He felt like there was a tug-of-war session going on inside his brain, the players of which bore an eerie resemblance to his best friend and his ex-girlfriend. On one side, Gerald's voice continued urging him, over and over, to get a move on already. " _Look, I was just thinking it might help you if you actually tried. With_ anyone _. Lila likes you, man. She made out with you! Just call her!"_

On the other side, Helga the Devil sent her fist slamming into his skull, face burning with contorted rage. " _Lila? Lila?! Don't you dare do it, Football Head! Don't even think about it!"_

Arnold frowned angrily at her.

"Lila kissed _me_. And besides, _you're_ the one who broke up with me," he reminded the unibrowed figure in his mind. Sweat was collecting at his hairline.

 _"You know exactly why I broke up with you, Arnoldo!"_

" _Yeah, you were done,_ " Gerald said, shrugging.

"You didn't want to be with me anymore," Arnold added.

" _You're an idiot. What is it with you_?" Helga snarled furiously. " _You already know that's not true. I love you. I_ love _you, and you…_ "

Shaking slightly, Arnold stood up from his chair, wincing at the creaking sound his limbs made. (Was he fifteen, or forty-seven?) He'd get a drink, he thought. Head down to the kitchen, get a nice glass of water, and stop worrying about all of this until tomorrow morning, once he'd had the chance to get a little more rest.

He opened his bedroom door to find Cadence waiting patiently at the threshold, paws folded and yellow eyes glowing in the dark.

"Hey, boy," Arnold whispered fondly, bending over to scratch him behind the ears. Unlike Abner, Cadence was agile enough to climb the top staircase, consequently spending many nights curled up on his rug or at the foot of his bed. "Go on in, I'll be right back."

When Arnold arrived at the ground floor of the boarding house, he was greeted by an eerie, husky voice blasting from the TV in the living room.

"Are you sick and tired of being a loser? Are you ready to finally _stop_ failing?"

"Yes… yes… I am!" Miles Shortman mumbled, sounding out of breath. Arnold peered his head into the room. His father was doing pushups against the floor, his back stacked inexplicably with a couple of dictionaries and a world atlas.

"There are two types of people in this world: winners and losers," the voice on the TV barreled on. "Like you, I used to be a loser. My wife resented me. My children were embarrassed of me. I didn't know what I was doing with my life. I was the biggest loser on the _planet_. Does that sound like you? Are _you_ the biggest loser on the planet?"

"Yes," Miles panted. "Yes, I am!" He attempted to spring up from his precarious position on the ground, but his back cracked audibly as he did so. Arnold watched his father moan, rubbing his spine with one hand and staring down at the fallen books on the rug.

"I was a loser, too," the TV continued. "But look at me now. I'm the most successful businessman on the east coast. Everyone in America knows my name. How did I create this life for myself? How did I go from zero to HERO?"

"I don't know!" Miles muttered feverishly, still rubbing his back. "How did you do it?"

"For the complete set of pointers on how to turn your life around, just call 1-800…"

"Oh, come on!" Miles snapped at the screen.

"Dad?" Arnold said precariously, one foot over the threshold to the living room.

"Oh… Arnold!" his father whipped around to look at him, face brightening. "Hey. Didn't see you there."

"Oh, yeah, well," Arnold mumbled softly, rubbing the back of his elbow. He wasn't sure why, exactly, but he couldn't get rid of the odd, sinking feeling in his heart. "How's everything going?"

"Oh, it's good, Arnold. Just watching this self-help video here. This psychology stuff, really superb. Inspiring."

"Uh huh," Arnold nodded quickly. "Well, it sounds, uh… great."

He wanted to tell his father he should go for a walk; step away from the TV screen for a little while, which certainly couldn't have been aiding his mental health. He wanted to revert to advice-mode, become the buttinsky his peers had always known him as.

But something was holding him back. His parents were… well, his _parents_. And whatever Arnold was to his friends and even to the other boarders, he had never been in relation to his mom and dad. Over the past four and a half years, he'd been amazed and discomforted and confused by what it was to be a boy with two stable grown-ups back in his life: a boy with a living mother and father. He'd worked hard on establishing those boundaries, and no matter how foreign they had been to him at age eleven, he had grown used to them in a certain kind of way by now. And he didn't want to feel that it was his place to tell his father how to live his life, not when his father was a hundred times smarter and older and more well-learned than he would probably ever be.

In any case, he didn't have to think about it long, because he was interrupted then by a buzzing sound from the pocket of his jeans. Arnold extracted his phone and drew in an anxious exhale when he saw the name flashing on the screen. His finger hovered over the contact name. He had to do it - he was driving himself completely insane.

"Hello, Arnold," came Lila's sweet voice from the other end.

"Lila," Arnold started awkwardly. "Hi."

"Hi. I'm certain you texted me earlier. You said you needed to talk?"

"Yeah. Listen, I know this is a weird question. And I know you probably already have plans. But I was just... well, I was wondering if you maybe wanted to go see a movie or something on Friday."

"A movie?" Lila repeated.

Arnold rubbed the back of his shoulder with his hand. "Yeah."

There was a pause, a few seconds of silence during which he felt sure she was about to turn him down.

"Okay," she told him at last. "I'd just love to."

* * *

The first thing Eugene thought when he stepped into the auditorium was that Mrs. Persad had beautiful hair. It was the corkscrew kind of curly, a beehive of dark ringlets that sprang from her forehead and spiraled down her neck. Her voice matched the look of it: bouncy.

He hadn't slept well the night before. He hadn't slept well for over a month now, actually. Long after his father had gone to sleep, Eugene's lay awake, tossing and turning into the night while his head danced and swam with ghosts.

"I'm going to go through this list in alphabetical order," Mrs. Persad announced to the group of high schoolers, who were sitting in the rows of plush seats in varying states of anxiety. Eugene was on the high end of the nerve spectrum. He was used to that. He couldn't help but clench his fingers over the loop in his belt as he waited, his sandaled feet clattering up and down against the floor.

"Each student is to introduce themselves to the group with his or her name and one interesting life fact. She will then name the part she is auditioning for, and read from the area of the script denoted. Singing roles must also include a segment from one song of the student's choosing."

Eugene's heart began to pound in his chest. Was this really a good idea? Besides, what was his interesting life fact going to be?

A tiny freshman nearly swallowed up by the long dress she was wearing raised her hand timidly. "Excuse me. Can we audition for more than one part?"

Mrs. Persad smiled warmly at her. "Of course you may. Any other questions?"

The first person to be called to the stage was Anderson, Layla, a girl with a stud nose ring and cerulean blue streaks in her dark ponytail. Eugene guessed she might be a freshman, too - he'd never seen her before. He found himself wishing that he could look as graceful and confident as she did as she sashayed up the steps, her copy of The King and the Killer Clown in one hand.

"I'm Layla," Layla told the group. "My interesting life fact is that I was named after the Eric Clapton classic. I'm auditioning for the part of the heartbroken queen consort of Henry VIII, Anne Boleyn."

"Excellent," Mrs. Persad said. "You may begin, my dear."

Instantaneously, Layla dropped to her knees, face filled with sorrow as she shook her fists at the ceiling lights.

"Why?!" she screamed. "Why have you forsaken me, my king?"

"It is you who has forsaken me!" Mrs. Persad replied, one hand over her heart as she read from the script for the part of Henry VIII. "You barren woman! Fruitless bane of my existence!"

"You will never get away with this!"

"Be gone with you, most undeserving of wives!"

Bowing her head deeply towards the floor of the stage, Layla broke into the beginning of Anne Boleyn's heart wrenching solo.

"Having done no one wrong

I begin my song

With a blood red heart

Right where it belongs

You can chop off my head

For when I am dead

I will break all your rules

Oh, you murderous fool

I will haunt your dark soul

Your heart black as coal."

Her voice quavered on the last syllable, fingernails digging into the ground. She began rolling her head left and right, a creative interpretation of Anne's beheading, Eugene supposed.

The auditorium burst into thunderous applause. Eugene wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.

"Gosh, that was magical," he whispered to the junior next to him, who shrugged.

The next person to be called to the stage was Baar, Roseline. Eugene recognized her from around school, though he wasn't quite sure how old she was. She was tall, with thick wire-rimmed glasses and large amounts of red hair.

"Roseline," Roseline announced. "I have been to every country in Europe. That's my fun fact."

The students in the audience offered mumbles of appreciation.

"Very nice," Mrs. Persad said, smiling again. "And what part will you be auditioning for, Roseline?"

"The killer clown," Roseline told them sweetly, pushing her glasses up her nose.

"Begin."

Roseline stared out at them for a long moment, seemingly in a state of contemplation. Then, without warning, she broke into a long, loud, malicious cackle.

"Who are you?!" Mrs. Persad read from the script. "What do you want from me!"

"I... am... here... for your blood," Roseline recited menacingly. She threw back her head and continued to laugh. "King Henry, you have done evil unto those who loved you. Now you must answer to me."

"I have not done evil unto anyone," Mrs. Persad moaned. "They are the ones who have wronged me, don't you see?"

"You... will.. be haunted! For the rest of your life!" Roseline dripped to the floor on her hands and knees and began to roll around on her back, body shaking as though possessed by some evil force, which incidentally was not in the script.

"That creative license," Eugene sighed wistfully under his breath. "That style."

Forty minutes of auditions later, Horowitz, Eugene's name was finally called.

The entire room felt silent, laced with a sudden cold - or was that Euegene's imagination? His heart was pounding so loudly in his ears it was hard to make out much else. For a moment, he remained locked into his chair, frozen in his seat as though strapped in with dead bolts.

"Horowitz, Eugene?" Mrs. Persad called again.

"Here," Eugene said meekly. "I mean, present. I'll go up now."

When she turned around to face him, the velvet in her eyes was momentarily soothing. Swallowing and nodding, Eugene stood and made his way to the stage, catching himself just in time when his sandals nearly sent him flying across the slippery wooden floor.

"I'm okay!" he announced reflexively. He could hear the students in the audience giggling.

"Eugene Horowitz, your fun fact? And who will you be auditioning for?" Mrs. Persad asked. Eugene stared, trying to make sense of the deep, inquisitive look on her face. His throat was bone dry.

Swallowing, he steeled his gaze. He glanced hard at her, and the students around him, their eyes bored and glazed. He knew they hoped that he wouldn't be as good as he wanted to be. It was in their best interest to beat him out, after all. At the same time as the thought occurred to him, he considered how he would never have felt something so pessimistic a year before.

"My fun fact is that this is my first time auditioning for the spring play. And I'm trying out for the king," Eugene heard himself saying. His voice echoed across the stage. "The king, Henry VIII."

A smile stretched across Mrs. Persad's soft features. "Very good. You may begin."

Eugene sucked in his lips. He took a deep breath of the air in the auditorium, filled with dust and strength. He wanted to swallow that strength, to take it and keep it somewhere inside of him, where it would finally be his to hold onto.

"My love, how could you," came Mrs. Persad's emotion-filled voice, reading for the part of Catherine. "How could you betray me like this."

In that moment, it was as though a curtain fell over his pain. His beating heart, his spinning head, his blood swimming with doubt - they stopped, in the heat of the stage lights beaming down on him.

"Catherine," Eugene bellowed. "You, my ungrateful wife, have betrayed me. You are fruitless. Lifeless. Unproductive fiend!"

"It is not my fault!"

"Excuses, excuses! It is your fault, my most unholy of maidens!"

He fell to his knees, face nearly touching the stage as the solo sprang from his lips.

"My ungrateful wife

You have ruined my life

With your body that fails

To bear me males

In this man-powered world."

He barely heard the applause that rippled through the auditorium.


	10. The King of Sabotage

**Author's Note** : To the guests leaving me reviews: I wish there was a way I could respond to you personally, but I can't. I appreciate all of your enthusiasm! You are my lifeblood!

* * *

10: The King of Sabotage

It was eight-thirty on the dot when Arnold arrived at Lila's house, checking his watch and pulling his jacket tightly around his chest to shield himself from the gusting wind.

At first, he paused outside, weighing his options. Was Lila the kind of girl who would want her date to be fashionably late? He couldn't help it: he found his thoughts straying to Helga as he remembered how it had been picking _her_ up for the various nights they spent traversing through Hillwood or getting dinner at Bigal's or throwing rocks at dumpsters. He'd always known that, inevitably, she'd be waiting anxiously for him long before he arrived, no matter what time it was. Consequently, he'd never had reason before to stop and consider frivolities like pretending to be too distracted to be on time. Was that an important thing to girls who weren't Helga? Would Lila think he was acting too eager?

By eight-thirty-two, he decided to take the plunge and ring the doorbell, footsteps padding softly across the crumbling front stoop. The door swung open almost immediately.

"Well, hello," Lila's father greeted him. Arnold had met him several times before. He was a kind-looking man, with hazel eyes the exact same color as Lila's and coppery stubble around his chin. Arnold was relieved, in any case, that he was smiling softly at him rather than staring him down, as Big Bob Pataki had seemed to take great pleasure in doing on more than one occasion.

"You must be here to pick up Lila," Lila's father continued, his smile now widening slightly. "Come on in. Can I get you something to drink?"

Arnold shook his head as he stepped through the threshold. "Thanks, but I'm alright, Mr. Sawyer. I'll just wait for Lila here."

"Lila, honey! Your date's here!"

Arnold took a seat on the couch, which had several wads of cotton stuffing poking out of the arms. He found himself feeling fond of the appearance of the Sawyers' living space, for which the term _humble_ _abode_ would be an exaggeration. He'd known that Lila and her father weren't exactly well off. But maybe he hadn't understood the extent of it, he thought, as his eyes wandered the length of the peeling walls and stained floorboards surrounding him. He felt more comfortable than he had only minutes prior. He'd always been more put off by the trappings of wealth than their reverse.

"Hello, Arnold," came a familiar wispy, flowery kind of voice. Lila was standing in the entranceway to the living room.

"Lila," Arnold said immediately, standing up and suddenly feeling his face get hot. "Hi."

She looked especially pretty, with her long hair tied in a braid and cowgirl boots on her feet.

"You look ever so nice," she told him sweetly, and his face grew even hotter.

"So do you. Come on, we better get going. Thanks again, Mr. Sawyer," he called out, and they headed outside and into the chilly evening air, walking side by side.

"Are we still seeing a movie?" Lila asked, and Arnold hesitated.

"Yeah, I thought so. I mean, unless you don't want to," he added quickly, and cringed at his own awkwardness.

"Oh no, I'd love to. There are some good ones out now," she said cheerfully. He remembered with some trepidation the taste she'd had in elementary school, which included room for The Enchanted Bunnies series and not much else.

"Guess we'll check out the options when we get there," he suggested.

"Oh yes, Arnold, that sounds like a just lovely plan." Lila stopped in her tracks suddenly, eyes flashing in the puddling darkness. "Maybe we can watch something really _meaningful_. Something just ever so special and _poetic_."

Arnold rubbed his upper arm with one hand, blinking. "Uh, sure, Lila."

She sighed as she picked up her pace again. "You know, I've been thinking a lot lately," she mused.

"You have? What've you been thinking about?"

"Well," Lila said slowly. Her braid was bouncing in rhythm to her steps as she walked. "About love, I suppose. It's been a long time since I've dated anyone, you know."

"I didn't," he told her, although honestly, he did. He'd heard an earful about that in the boys' locker room at least once a week for the past year, from every annoyed guy who'd asked her out and been turned down.

"I suppose I just, well, I have my heart set on thinking there's an oh so special person out there, just for me. A soulmate. My daddy always said my mother was his soulmate. That's why it's been so hard for him. Once you find true love, you can never settle for anything else again."

"What happened to her?" Arnold found himself asking. "Your mother?"

In all the years he'd known Lila – including this past summer, when he'd spent more time with her in the wake up of his breakup than he ever had before – he didn't think he'd ever asked her that question. It had felt too personal, too prying. But now that she was offering her mother's name on her own, it was only natural for him to wonder out loud.

"Oh, she passed away," Lila told him. Her voice was full of the wistful but resigned candor of someone who had accepted something a long time ago. "When I was just a little girl."

"I'm sorry, Lila."

"Me too," she said quietly. "She was sick. She died a few months before we moved to Hillwood."

"I never even knew that."

"Well… I'm certain I never really told anyone. It all happened so fast. We lived on a farm, you know. It was so beautiful, Arnold. We had so many animals and loved them all. Chickens and cows and pigs. My mama used to wake me up at dawn every day. You'd never believe how beautiful the sunrise looks when you're not surrounded by all of these skyscrapers."

"I guess I've never really seen a sunrise like that," he told her. He could feel something warm welling up in his chest.

"Oh, they're lovely, Arnold. Just ever so lovely."

"Sounds like it."

"I didn't know it at the time, but Daddy moved us to the city because it was so different. He didn't want to be reminded of her anymore. He thought coming out here, surrounded by oh so many new things, would be a chance for both of us to start again."

"Well, I'm glad that you guys did move out here, Lila."

"Thank you."

There was a pause as they continued walking, the silence between them growing thick.

"Anyway, I've been thinking lately, about love. And I've wondered, you know. If maybe I've had it wrong all this time."

"What do you mean by wrong?" Arnold asked her.

"Well, I… what I mean is, maybe my soulmate wasn't coming to find me. Maybe he's been here, all along."

"You think?" he said, swallowing, because his throat felt pretty dry all of a sudden.

"Look, we're here," Lila exclaimed. They had arrived in front of the multiplex cinema, its bright, neon lights shining in the dark. "Oh, Arnold! The latest Creatures of the Confetti Dust is out. Do you want to go?"

He'd never heard of the movie before. But he was quick to agree, mostly because he didn't think there'd be anything else the two would have in common and he didn't want to highlight that fact right now. "Sure, Lila," he said, shrugging.

After they'd gone inside and waited in line for tickets, he took her to the concessions stand, where she stood perusing the multitude of options for minutes on end. Rows of brightly colored candies crowded the glass display case beside the popcorn and pretzel machines. He remembered with a sudden pang in his stomach how Helga used to stack the snacks one on top of the other, Sour Patch Kids falling into her red-and-white-striped bag of popcorn and Milk Duds dangling precariously into her soda cup.

"Are you alright?" Lila asked him.

He blinked at her. "Oh yeah, I'm fine. Are you?"

"Oh, yes. You just looked so far away for a minute there."

They were drawing closer to the countertop. "What would you like, Lila? Popcorn? A hotdog? Maybe some—"

But they were interrupted then by a large crash, and some kind of spray of cold liquid behind them, which Arnold instantly felt seeping into the back of his denim jeans. Lila shrieked. Her entire dress, he saw, had been drenched in that half-second. In fact, the deluge of liquid had hit her so hard that it was dripping from the ends of her hair.

They both whipped around at the same time. Arnold wasn't sure what he was expecting – but it certainly wasn't Harold Berman, standing behind them with a guilty expression on his face, the rug around him soiled with a fallen cup and an overturned bag of popcorn.

"Oh man!" Harold yelled loudly, pressing his hands to his cheeks. "Didn't see you guys there! What a terrible accident! Gee, it's too bad that sticky, sugary soda had to fall _all_ over Lila's dress!"

Arnold stared at him, raising an eyebrow.

"What a horrible turn of events," Harold continued shakily. "Anyways, sorry about that."

He began to casually walk away from the mess on the floor.

"Hey, wait! What are you doing in the snack line if you already got your popcorn, anyway?" Arnold asked skeptically.

Harold blinked. Beads of sweat were collecting noticeably on his forehead, further adding to Arnold's confusion. "Huh?" Harold said. "Oh, I was – uh – I'm really hungry. That's all. I decided I needed some candy. What's it to you, anyway?" he added, glowering.

Arnold glanced at Lila. She was attempting to smooth out her drenched dress with both hands.

"Don't worry," she said quickly to both boys. "I'm certain it was just an accident."

They moved up to the display counter. At Lila's request, Arnold bought them one bag of popcorn to share, and two Sprites to go with it. But as the two of them made their way through the roped bend to the ticket collector, he couldn't shake the odd feeling that their encounter with Harold had been purposefully planned. Why, though? What did Harold have against them? He'd outgrown his off-the-cuff bullying stage years before.

"Oh, Arnold, I'm ever so excited," Lila was saying, apparently having moved on quickly from the fiasco, despite the fact that her dress was still dripping soda onto the floor. "Aren't you?"

"What?" Arnold replied distractedly. "Oh, I mean, yeah… really excited."

They passed the suited attendant their tickets and headed into the theater.

"Where do you want to sit, Lila?" he asked her.

"Oh, at the front of the theater, of course. I just love being extra close to the screen. That way I feel like I'm really a _part_ of everything."

He shrugged as he followed her into the second row. The screen was much too close for his liking, but he didn't feel that that was especially important, in light of the fact that he wasn't expecting to be particularly engrossed in this movie, anyway.

They sat down on the fold-out seats, sipping their sodas and politely letting the popcorn go uneaten until the start of the movie. The trailers were only just beginning.

"Ooh, I just love trailers," Lila squealed quietly as they settled in. Her hand was reaching closer to his, palm almost brushing against his knuckles.

He jumped slightly in his chair – he hadn't been expecting the skin-to-skin contact.

"Arnold, what's wrong?" she asked him, removing her hand immediately.

"Oh – nothing," he whispered. "Sorry, I just… never mind."

He thought he saw her frown slightly. Rather than attempting to hold his hand again, she reached into the bag of popcorn, munching quietly

"Oh, look, the eleventh Evil Twin is coming out soon," he mumbled as the screen begin to flash with the upcoming movie's trademark block letter title. Several appreciative shrieks ran through the auditorium as a knife-wielding twin appeared on the screen, chuckling maniacally and dripping with blood.

Lila's yell was the most pronounced of all. In fact, once she had started screaming, she couldn't seem to stop.

"It's okay," he tried to tell her soothingly. "Close your eyes, I'll tell you when the trailer's over."

"No, it's not that! Something is BITING ME!"

"Biting you?" he repeated in a hushed voice. "What would be biting you?"

"I DON'T KNOW, BUT I'M EVER SO CERTAIN SOMETHING IS BITING ME!" Lila shrieked urgently. "I CAN FEEL IT!" she leapt up suddenly from her seat, her perfectly manicured fingernails digging tightly into some sort of rasping, scaly creature that looked to Arnold like a tiny dinosaur in the dark. It was hissing, its curling tongue reaching out again and again to lap at Lila's skin.

"What is that?" he gasped, his heart rate gathering speed as he jumped up, too. They had attracted the attention of everyone else in the theater now, who were staring at the scene in front of them rather than the screen with gawking eyes.

"I DON'T KNOW WHAT IT IS!" Lila screamed, almost in tears now. "GET IT OFF ME, ARNOLD!"

Gallantly, he reached for the lizard-like animal, pulling as hard as he could. Its teeth were sunken into Lila's arm so deeply that it took several yanks before it finally gave way. Arnold toppled backwards onto the floor with the force of his momentum. Still holding the creature, it only took him a minute to realize that there wasn't one but at least a dozen of these mysterious serpents, all glaring at him with beady yellow eyes as his head hit the ground with a resounding thump.

"Oh, Arnold!" came Lila's voice above him, somehow both drooping and frantic. "Be careful!"

He clamped a hand automatically around the tails of two more of the closest lizards and began to rise slowly from the ground, holding their wriggling bodies tightly in their grasp. All around him, screams were erupting as the audience members began to charge down the aisleways as though running for their lives.

 _Somebody definitely did this on purpose_ , Arnold suddenly thought, the realization burning into his brain with the force of a freight train ramming into a bundle of passengers. _I know somebody did this on_ _purpose_. Was it the proximity of the lizards surrounding his hair and closing in on him to peck at his face, all the exact same size, and all mysteriously crowded into this one miniscule area of the theater? Or was it the familiar laughter he could hear behind him, the deep, unmistakable voice ringing through the darkness? He turned around, feeling as though he were moving in slow motion. He'd have recognized the brooding eyes, that sinister smirk of Curly Gammelthorpe anywhere.


	11. Animal Aggression

**Author's Note** : Thank you for sticking in there. And mostly for being you. You're amazing and precious. Don't forget that you deserve all the love in the world.

* * *

11: Animal Aggression is My Downfall

" _Criminy_ , Curly," Helga muttered. She was pacing back and forth on her bedroom floor, sweating in her boxers despite the early winter chill in the air.

"Yeah, I'll say," Curly echoed from her bed. He lay on his stomach with his chin in his hands, cell phone propped up on her bundled up purple blanket. "That's some good stuff, huh? You wanna watch it again?" His fingers hovered over the Play button. Her stomach was churning in a familiar way, like she'd just eaten bad pork rinds or expired butter.

"Well, I..." Helga began somewhat anxiously, but the video had already started again. Curly had shown it to her a half-dozen times now. And though she'd at first gotten a good laugh out of the footage of Lila screaming for her life as she raced out of the movie theater a week before, Helga just couldn't shake the last four seconds of that shitty, old-cell-quality clip.

It was a close-up of Arnold's face, right in the middle of the scene, but emotionally removed from the action, as though he alone in the theater were able to muster up some common sense and recognize the ridiculousness of all the terror. And yet, he also looked… well, pretty freaking distraught. He looked suspicious, and confused and hurt. Like the way he'd looked that time Helga tripped him on his face in the hallway. She was trying her best to ignore the painful knots in her stomach, but she was finding that pretty difficult, at the moment.

"Insane stuff," Curly mused, still laughing. "Everyone was so _scared_."

"Right," she mumbled.

"I love how excited Josephine looks in this part where she's clawing into Lila's hair."

"Josephine?" Helga repeated incredulously.

"Yeah, she's one of the sweeter geckos, isn't she?" Curly said fondly. "They're all living a happier life now. Freed from bondage."

"Freed from bondage." Helga rolled her eyes. "Right, because everything a lizard could ever want is to roam the streets of Hillwood. Nothin like living with the homeless and the druggies in sewers."

"Don't forget Monkeyman," said Curly brightly. "He falls somewhere in between. Not quite _homeless_ , not quite _homed_. A heroic brand of vagabond, some might say."

"Right," she snarled, crossing her arms over her chest. "A dune gecko's dream man."

"So, you hear about the next date yet?" Curly inquired eagerly. "Is there gonna be one?"

Helga winced. "I heard from Pheebs, who heard from Gerald that yeah, there's gonna be one. They're going for it, Curly. The real deal."

Curly cackled maniacally. "Finally, a chance for my connections with the Hillwood Zoo to come to fruition! My brilliant mastermind will see the light of day! I have so many good plans up my sleeve! I—"

"I thought you got banned from the zoo," Helga scoffed.

"Well, technically I did, but – "

"And how many more animals can we _release_ anyway?"

"Dozens more! Hundreds more! So many creatures, small and large, waiting to be freed!"

"Look, Curly," she interrupted him, looking down at her floor. "I appreciate all the help, but see, the thing is…"

"You want to go bigger. Better!"

" _No_." Helga rubbed her elbow, picking absentmindedly at the scab on her skin.

"You want to try the old-fashioned tricks! _The Lion_ _and the Gnat_. You want to torture them with miniscule insects until their place in the world becomes clear at last!"

"No, Curly. I'm done."

He blinked at her. "Done?"

"Are you deaf? _Yes_ , done," she snapped. "Let them date. Let them have a great time. I don't wanna be a part of it anymore."

"Really?" he said skeptically, raising an eyebrow.

She didn't know how to voice the conclusion she'd reached in her gut: she didn't want to be a force of destruction any longer, not when it came to him. The delicious anticipation of vengeance and actually seeing the aftermath – that awful, awful look on Arnold's face – were two very different things. And she simply wasn't willing to be the cause of the latter anymore. Not _again_. She loved him too much.

"I'm just getting tired of it, that's all," she told Curly stubbornly.

"You?" Curly asked, shoulders dragging slightly with disappointment. "You, _la reine régnant_ , queen of revenge?"

"Yeah."

" _Oh vraiment, mademoiselle_?"

"Yes."

"You, Helga Pataki, whose _raison d'etre_ is dishing out sweet, sweet satisfying consequences to those who deserve them?"

"Would you knock it off with the random French already?"

" _Pardon, bien sur_."

Helga groaned as she collapsed onto her bed beside him.

"Sorry. Don't be sad, Helga," Curly told her, closing out of the video and tossing his phone beside him facedown.

"I don't want him to be _miserable_ ," she said in a tiny voice.

"Course you don't," he said. "You just don't wanna see Arnold and Little Miss Perfect have a smashing evening together. Who would?"

"What do _you_ have against her?"

"She's stealing the affections of the boy you worship and adore," Curly told her loyally.

"Well, maybe," Helga muttered, wringing her hands together. Her chest felt unbearably heavy. "But it's not really her fault, and stuff. Or his," she added. "They just like each other, I guess. That's just how life is."

"Life sucks."

"Yeah," she agreed. Her heart was pounding fully in her chest, as though someone had sedated it to a low-flame, aching burn.

"The world is shitty."

"Yeah, me especially."

"You especially what?"

"I... I just don't wanna be this fucked up anymore, okay?"

"I hate to break it to you," Curly began morosely. "But you're never not gonna be fucked up. That's just how you are, Helga."

"I mean, I know that, but I meant I don't want to be - I'm sick of being a person like _this_." Her voice cracked as she said the words. "I mean, there's normal, like Lila, and then there's a little weird, and then there's fucked up... and then there's me. Why has my whole freaking _life_ revolved around making the single most decent and good and kind-hearted human being on this planet miserable?" She cringed, feeling her face get hot, and buried her head in her hands.

"Hey," Curly told her, his voice a bit softer now. He hesitated. "Come on. You're not really _that_ bad."

"Gee, thanks."

"It's not your fault Arnold and Lila got so unreasonably upset by a totally innocuous gaggle of liberated reptiles."

"Did they see you, Curly?"

"What do you mean?"

"Arnold and Lila," she said, biting her lip. "Did they see you?" She knew that if Arnold _had_ seen Curly, that was the end of any chance she had ever had at not blowing her cover. Curly was Helga's friend; hardly anyone else in Hillwood would tolerate him. And what motive would the boy who mostly kept to himself have had for destroying a perfectly innocent movie outing on his own accord?

"What? Oh... I don't know. I don't think so."

Helga rubbed her hand in anxious circles across her bedspread, exhaling. "Well, he's never _gonna_ see you. Cause we're not doing this again, that's for sure."

"That's pretty boring."

"Well, I don't see you screwing around and setting wrathful animals loose on your princess and her hot football player boyfriend," she shot back.

"Samuel isn't her _boyfriend_ ," Curly snapped. "But if he was, I still wouldn't. I care about her happiness too much," he said with sudden complete moral conviction, which made Helga cross her arms over her chest in irritation.

"Oh, so Arnold's okay to mess with, but Rhonda's not. I'm so glad Rhonda Lloyd gives you the structure you're so severely lacking in life."

"Yeah, me too," Curly told her. Helga sighed testily, but she knew her friend had enough on his own mind. Aside from the rumors rippling through the high school about Rhonda's continuing hookups with Samuel, there was the more pressing issue of Curly's dad, who'd gone on another bender over the past forty-eight hours. Curly was planning on camping out in Helga's bedroom again for the foreseeable future, under her self-designated conditions that he A) shower regularly, and B) stay away from any and all forms of sharp objects.

"Well, look," she said finally. "I'm gettin kind of tired. Let's just watch some TV or something, okay?"

Curly nodded. "Too much to deal with?"

She gritted her teeth resentfully, but she nodded back. "Yeah," she muttered at last. "Turn it on, alright?"

And she felt his hand before she saw it squeezing her shoulder, comforting and soft. "Yeah, okay," he said quietly, before reaching down for the laptop on top of his sleeping bag and signing in to his Netflix account.

* * *

"You have got to be _kiddin_ me, Berman."

Gino was pacing back and forth along the neatly swept garage floor, hands knotted behind his back.

"I give you one mission," he continued. " _One_ mission, and this is the stella job you do for me? _This_ is the way you earns the respect and admiration of the woman I adore?"

"I did what I could, Gino," Harold whimered. "I did! But see, what happened was, a whole bunch of crazy lizards," he gestured wildly with his hands, "They got loose in the theater. And Arnold and Lila were gone before I knew it. Seems like someone else wanted their date to fail even more than we did, heh heh," he chuckled nervously.

Gino strode forward and clenched the collar of Harold's shirt with both hands. A dry squeak bubbled up in Harold's throat.

"If someone else wanted their date to _fail_ ," Gino said murderously. "Then I needs to know who that someone is. Cause they sure as hells didn't _make_ it fail."

"They – they didn't?" Harold stammered. "Heh, that's funny, cause I'd say they did. Yeah. It was a big ole failure, that's for sure," he nodded confidently.

Gino pulled his face in so close Harold could smell the pepperoni and vodka on his breath. "If it was a failure, then why are Lila and that weird-headed kid goin out _again_?"

"They – they are?" Harold squealed, voice unnaturally high-pitched. "Who said they are?"

Gino released Harold from his grasp in one angry movement, sending the latter boy sailing to the ground. "You don't worry about that part! Big Gino has his ways, and he _knows_ those two are going out again!"

"Oh," Harold managed.

"And you're gonna be afta them on that date. And this time, yous to make sure you don't screw _nothin_ up. You got that?"

"Y-yes sir, I got that. But how am I gonna—"

"I'll tell you how," Gino plowed on. "Because we ain't playin games anymore. We're goin big league this time, Berman."

"Big league?" Harold repeated weakly.

"That's right." Gino rubbed his hands together. "We're gonna _humiliate_ the kid. We're gonna make sure Lila _neva_ wants to date him again."

"We are?"

"You betta believe we are."

* * *

There was just something about Wee Burn.

It more than relaxed her; it comforted her. When Rhonda Lloyd was feeling jittery, anxious, or unsure, Wee Burn provided her with a sense of belonging.

Maybe that was because not just _anyone_ could get into the country club in the suburbs north of Hillwood. Even if your family had the money, you were required to receive a private invitation from an existing club member. The Lloyds had been insiders for generations before Rhonda was born. So she'd grown up here, in a way, spending weekends away from the city to watch her father putt balls on the magnificent golf course; eating hot fudge sundaes with her mother; prancing around the tennis courts in her favorite white miniskirt.

Her family had been the ones to sponsor the Cohn-Lopez family's membership, as a matter of fact. Once Rhonda's mother had met Lorenzo's mother at Mr. Simmons' fifth grade back-to-school night, it was only a matter of time before she began pouring her energy into formulating extensive recommendation letters for the wealthy newcomers. _Sometimes, sweetheart_ , Mrs. Lloyd had explained to her daughter at the time, _you need to do what's right in life, and give New Money a chance_. The initiation of the family into Wee Burn had also given Lorenzo and Rhonda an odd, strained chance at friendship, and continued to do so as the two got older. They remained in different crowds at school. Lorenzo was, well, _nerdy_ , to put it simply, what with his regimented study schedule, steadfast commitment to the high school orchestra, and rather unbecoming knack for dressing like a thirty-seven-year-old in sweater vests rather than a teenager. But here, their usual social circles didn't matter. Here, Rhonda and Lorenzo were just two wealthy fifteen-year-olds with a unique connection to miles of greenery and state-of-the-art dining facilities, something no one else in Hillwood could even dream of having access to.

In any case, tonight was one of those nights Rhonda felt she really _needed_ to be here. As soon as she stepped through the oak doors, the familiar rushing sound of the mini-waterfall began to soothe the circles her head had been spinning in all week.

She made her way towards the dining area, internally debating the merits of starting with a virgin Shirley temple versus a diet Coke. And there, sitting at one of the small circular tables, was Lorenzo, bent over a textbook as usual.

She sauntered over and plopped down beside him, slumping into the chair with her cheeks in her hands.

"Rhonda," Lorenzo said politely as he glanced up from his book. "I thought you might be here this weekend. It's nice to see you."

"Thanks," she said, glancing down at his sheet of loose leaf paper. It was filled with AP Physics equations, all of which looked like an indecipherable mess to her. "Whatcha doing?" she asked him blankly.

"Oh, just some of my homework here. Trying to prepare for my next test with Mr. Conklin."

"When is it?"

"Two weeks and four days," he replied distractedly, sifting through his textbook and arriving at an index card marking the page. He began jotting down another slew of numbers.

Without thinking, Rhonda reached out and grabbed the paper from him between her index and pointer finger.

"Lorenzo," she whined, pouting. "It's just silly to study for a test that's still two weeks away."

"But Rhonda, I need to-"

"And besides, I'm _much_ more interesting than that nonsense," she told him, tossing her dark hair behind her shoulder.

"Physics is just about the most useful school subject there is."

"Oh, please. More useful than _gym_? I mean, two-thirds of Americans are obese, Lorenzo. Can you imagine if there were no gym class? There would be even _more_ muffin tops to have to look at on a daily basis," she shuddered.

"The laws of physics apply to all people, obese or not," Lorenzo pointed out.

Rhonda attempted to stifle her smile. "Okay, you got me there," she prodded him with the heel of her Nancy Spumoni ankle boot. "But come on, I need someone to talk to."

He looked up at her. "You do? What's up?"

Rhonda groaned dramatically. "I'm just so sick of men, Lorenzo! I mean, isn't there a single one of you who's good?"

"I'm sorry, but I'm not sure what you mean." Lorenzo hesitated, biting at his heart-shaped mouth as he looked her up and down. "Good?"

"I mean, someone who has _all_ the qualities I want, not just a couple," she sighed. "Samuel is so… he's so hot, but he just – he won't even talk to me. All he ever wants to do is make out or… or… well, you know," she could feel her face flushing slightly as she trailed off. "And I'm just sick of it. I _like_ him, Lorenzo."

"Sorry," he said slowly, shaking his head. "Is Samuel the one who you have been having.. shared passion with?"

Rhonda blinked at him for a moment, unsure whether to laugh or cry.

"I didn't mean in a bad way," Lorenzo said hastily. "I meant –"

"It's okay," she cut him off. "Yes." She began to pick anxiously at the skin surrounding her fire engine red fingernails. Her thoughts were spilling out before she could control herself. "I want him to _talk_ to me. I want him to take me out and buy me Godiva chocolates and roses. I want to go out for romantic spaghetti dinners, and I want him to invite me to his games. I would make such a good girlfriend, wouldn't I?"

"What?" said Lorenzo awkwardly. "Oh – I mean – yes, a very good girlfriend.

"I mean, I'd be _there_ for him. I'd root for him. But I guess none of those things matter to Samuel," she exhaled heavily. "Or at least, not when it comes to me."

"Why is he so attractive to you, anyway?" Lorenzo asked, scrunching up his nose. "He's some sort of sports athlete?"

She couldn't help but giggle. "He plays football, Lorenzo."

"I'm sorry you haven't been treated well," Lorenzo told her earnestly.

"It's not that I haven't been treated well," Rhonda tried to explain. "He hasn't been mean to me. It's just… well, I wanted more than random hookups, Lorenzo. Isn't there anyone out there who understands that there's more to me than my _beauty_?"

"Of course," he replied, looking genuinely confused as he furrowed his eyebrow. "There are tons of guys who understand that."

She sighed dramatically, crossing her arms in front of her and laying her head down to rest for a moment on the cool surface of the table.

"How about Curly Gammelthorpe?"

She sat up again quickly, rolling her eyes. "Curly _Gammelthorpe_?"

"Right," Lorenzo nodded. "I don't mean to bring up anything uncomfortable for you."

"You're not. But _that's_ never gonna happen."

"Fair enough," he said, shrugging, his eyes straying towards his textbook again. "But he's an example of a guy who likes you for more than your beauty – isn't he?"

"Um, well," Rhonda started awkwardly. "I suppose."

"So if there's a Curly out there, then there are other guys out there like that, too. Maybe ones who aren't as… quirky. Isn't that a fair assessment?"

She nodded slowly, considering this. "Maybe. Yeah."

"Good." Lorenzo picked up his pencil again, biting the edge of the eraser as his attention turned towards his equations again.

"But I want to date _Samuel_ ," she moaned. "Why can't Samuel be one of those guys?"

"It's not in our power to change other people, Rhonda," Lorenzo said wisely. "Only ourselves."

"Nadine's mad at me now too, you know. Do you think I can change _her_?"

"Nadine?" Lorenzo asked. "Your very best friend, she's mad at you?"

"She hates Samuel," Rhonda explained. "And my other new friends. She thinks they're bad people or something. But it's like, she needs to get a check on her own jealousy sometimes, you know? She's so used to being my only best friend," she sighed sadly.

Lorenzo frowned. "I don't think that's a very nice thing to say at all."

"Why not?" she said, affronted. She crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm not saying anything anyone with eyes can't see."

"Nadine has been your friend a very long time," Lorenzo said softly. "Jealousy or no jealousy, you should trust her if she has something to say."

"I know," Rhonda spluttered. "I do trust her." She stared down at the numbers on Lorenzo's paper. She wished one of those formulas would apply to her own life. At least then, there would be an answer; one she knew was permanent, one that couldn't be refuted.

* * *

"More eggs, sweetheart?"

His mother hovered over him at the kitchen table, a pan still full of scrambled eggs waiting enticingly by her side.

"No, thanks," Arnold said softly, digging his fork across his still half-uneaten plate. "They're good though, Mom," he added hastily as he managed a small smile. "Really good."

"Thanks," Stella told him. She returned his smile with a slight squeeze of his hand.

"It's fabulous sitting down together for a meal, huh?" Mr. Potts asked. He was spending his Sunday getting ready for a week full of demolitions, the first of which would be beginning today. His face glowed with anticipation as he shoveled food into his mouth. "A family breakfast. Can't think of anything more special."

"You're telling me, heh heh," Oskar agreed, dousing his third helping of blueberry waffles in more butter. "Pass the maple syrup, Grandpa."

"So, Arnold," Mr. Potts said, grinning and wiping his mouth. "You never finished telling us about your hot date last week. You gonna go out with her again?"

"I never started telling you," Arnold found himself saying automatically. He could feel his face flushing slightly.

"I know, but I, uh, figured you'd get to that," Mr. Potts chuckled. "Saw you walking home with her. Fine looking gal. You're a real gentleman, Arnold, a real gentleman."

"Oh, yeah, I saw her too," Mr. Kokoshka joined in over a mouthful of bacon. "Pretty girl. Nice looking chest, nice—"

"Oskar!" Suzie cried in horror beside him, slapping his wrist.

"What!" Oskar sulked.

"Don't talk about a fifteen-year-old girl that way! Don't talk about _any_ girl that way!"

"But I wasn't, Suzie! I was just making an observation."

"Anyway," Arnold said loudly, pushing his chair away from the table. His discomfort was quickly fizzling into annoyance.

His mother followed him over to the sink. Together, they loaded the dishes as the boarders finished eating, Arnold scrubbing out the pans and waffle maker with a Brillo pad and their watered-down liquid soap. He felt his fingers turning pruny as they worked over the glass insides of the coffee pot.

There was one person who'd been notably absent from their meal. Arnold wondered where he was, but something heavy in his heart kept him from asking the question outright. He couldn't remember the last time his father had missed a Sunday brunch. Breakfast was Miles' favorite meal of the day, especially when all of the boarders had enough time to enjoy it together.

"So," Stella asked quietly, after everyone but the two of them had left the kitchen, chattering loudly about their various plans for the day. "How _was_ your date? We never got the chance to talk about it."

Arnold sighed as he dried his fingers off on the dish towel on the stove. "Before or after the part where someone sent a couple dozen geckos loose right underneath our seats?"

"Huh?" his mother said, raising an eyebrow skeptically. "Didn't you go the movies?"

"Yeah, we did."

"Well, what happened? Someone's pets escaped? Why were they carrying geckos to a movie theater in the first place?"

Arnold sighed again, carefully avoiding his mom's eyes as he stared down at the tile floor. "I don't know. I... I know it sounds crazy, but I think we were sabotaged. I mean, I think someone was aiming for us."

"Sabotaged, huh?" Stella repeated slowly.

"Lila's got a rash on her arms and face and she said her doctor told her it might take weeks to heal up completely. Apparently she's allergic to geckos."

His mother gaped at him. "I'm so sorry, sweetie. I hope she'll be okay. But who would purposely do something like that?"

He fidgeted with his hands, drawing in a sharp, angry breath of air. "Listen, I... I don't want to jump to conclusions, but..." he trailed off uncertainly.

"But what?"

"There was only one person I could see in that theater that I knew, Mom. And we saw everyone, because we all had to evacuate."

"And?" Stella prompted gently.

"And it..."

"Yes?"

"It... it was Helga's best friend, Curly. I mean, we all know him. But she's the only one at Hillwood who really knows him, knows him. He was sitting right behind us. And he put the geckos there, I'm almost sure of it."

"How do you know that?"

"For one thing, they appeared in almost the exact place he was sitting, and no one else was as close to us. And... and the look on his face, it was just... obvious."

"So..." Stella said slowly.

"He was laughing and smiling calmly while everyone else was, well, flipping out."

Stella frowned. "Poor geckos. So, you think Helga had something to do with it?" she completed the thought for him.

"I didn't say she definitely did," Arnold said hastily. "I just didn't rule it out, that's all. I mean, maybe Curly was just having another one of his episodes." He rubbed the back of his shoulder, unsure of whether he was trying to convince himself or his mother.

"And what if she did?" Stella asked then, her voice gentle.

"What?"

"If Helga did have something to do with it... then what?"

Arnold blinked rapidly. "Well, I... I really don't know, Mom."

"You'd be angry," Stella suggested.

"Well, yeah," he nodded, and then paused. "I mean - I just - what I'd really want to know is _why_..."

But his thought was cut off as a loud crash sounded from somewhere near the front door. Stella and Arnold both raced out of the kitchen to see Miles sitting on the floor, groaning slightly and dressed in running shorts and what looked like weighted red bean bags strapped to his legs and arms. His entire body glimmered with sweat, despite the fact that the city outside was glazed with a light dusting of snow.

"Morning!" Miles called weakly. He managed to hoist himself off the ground and limped over to plant two sticky kisses on the heads of his wife and son.

"Oh...Dad," Arnold said in surprise. He'd assumed his father had accidentally slept through breakfast.

"Hi," Miles panted. "Just went for a power run. Really refreshing stuff." He bent over, his hands on his kneecaps.

"Miles," Stella muttered quickly. "I thought we talked about not overdoing it."

"Oh - I know, honey," he continued to pant as he straightened up again and the three of them made their way back to the kitchen sink. "This was... different. I needed this."

"How was it?" Arnold asked.

"Inspiring. Refreshing. Really-" Miles broke off as a fit of coughing overtook him.

"Drink some water," Stella demanded hastily. She grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it quickly, holding it up to Miles' lips. Arnold noticed that her hands were shaking just slightly as she did so. He paused to watch his parents for a minute, confused.

"Thanks - honey - I…" Miles began, but suddenly the glass in his hands was crashing to the floor. It splintered into pieces that sprayed across the tiles and Miles threw his palms to his knees again, moaning.

"Dad!" Arnold yelled at the same time as his mother rushed to Miles' side, tugging the tight fabric of his perspiration-soaked shirt and seizing him by the shoulders.

"Sorry," Miles gasped. He squeezed his eyes shut, his face filling with agony. "Sorry - no worries - I just - chest pains - that's all."

"Doctor Sloane told you not to push yourself too hard. _I_ told you not to push yourself too hard," Stella told him, and her voice was overflowing with something stern and overwhelmed. Arnold found himself taking a step backwards, glancing at his father and his mother.

"Why don't you sit down, Dad?" he suggested softly.

"Great idea," Miles agreed, managing a smile. "Come sit with me, Arnold, I want to hear all about your date."


	12. If You Hear From Him

12: If You Hear from Him, Let Us Know

"I'm glad you're feeling better, Lila," Arnold said.

He'd ridden his bike over to the Sawyers'. It was one of the last days of the year he could manage to do so before the streets became too caked with ice and slush. The two of them were sitting on the living room couch, an arm's length apart from one another.

Today, Arnold had brought along a pint of strawberry ice cream. The week before, it had been a tube of hydrocortisone cream, and peppermint-scented anti-inflammation oil from his mother's collection of Green Eye remedies, which had all but done the trick clearing up Lila's rashes. Evidently, her allergic reaction hadn't been anywhere near as serious as her doctor had initially cautioned. Still, Arnold was finding it impossible to shake an unreasonable sense of responsibility for the whole incident.

"Oh, Arnold," Lila told him sweetly. "You're oh too kind. I'm ever so much better. Hardly itching at all anymore."

He smiled. "That's good to hear."

"Yes. Thank you."

He nodded, tugging a bit awkwardly at his shirt. The two of them proceeded to stare at the container of ice cream, which was growing softer on the coffee table in front of them.

"I'll scoop some up for us," Lila suggested.

"Maybe later?" Arnold said quickly, rubbing his arm. "I did make dinner reservations for seven."

He followed her into the tiny, ramshackle kitchen, watching while she opened her freezer and placed the ice cream carefully next to a tray of flower-shaped ice cubes.

"Lila," Arnold said hesitantly. "I'm sorry. I really am."

"Oh, don't be so silly," Lila responded breezily.

She was just as pretty as she had always been, Arnold thought, as she leaned over the countertop to study him. Her hair fell across her collarbone in perfect, shining curls; flecks of gold danced in her hazel eyes. And as he looked back at her, his mind began to tunnel backwards in time. He found himself imagining how this would have felt at age nine, or ten. How happy he'd have been, if he could have somehow seen this moment – like a movie reel, or a sneak preview of the future. _Oh, good_ , he would have thought, looking triumphantly at the teenage Lila and Arnold, together on a real live date. _I knew it would work out in the end_.

"Arnold," Lila sighed heavily.

"I know, I know, it wasn't my fault," Arnold said hastily, wringing his hands. "But being attacked like that can't have been fun for you, and I—"

"Shh." Gently, she moved her hand across the counter, placing one fingertip against his lips.

"I…" he mumbled, feeling his face flush. He could count every freckle on her cheeks, see the coatings of mascara on her eyelashes.

"Arnold," she said again, and her voice was so soft it was almost a whisper. "I want you to know that I'm trying. I'm trying just ever so hard."

Arnold took one step backwards as she brought her face closer to his and almost tripped over himself, catching his footing again just in time.

"It's a bit difficult for me," she continued.

"Sorry." He hesitated. "I don't know if I understand."

Her smile looked a bit unsure, he thought, as she gazed at him. "Well, to be just perfectly honest… neither do I. I never had feelings like _that_. For _you_. But I'm certain I'm trying to make this work."

"This?"

"You're very shy, aren't you?"

He swallowed. "I… I guess so."

"You could have told me, you know. If you felt so strongly for all this time," she said slowly. "Did you… _are_ you the one who…?" But she just trailed off vaguely, playing with her hair.

"I—the one who—what?"

Lila sighed again, clasping her hands in front of her. "I know I'm pretty, Arnold, and just… just ever so intimidating, perhaps. But there's more to me than that."

"I know," he told her quickly, mostly because he was completely at a loss as to what else to say.

"The other kids always called me Little Miss Perfect. Do you think I am?"

"Huh?" he gaped at her. "I mean… what I mean is — I never thought you were perfect, Lila, I just—"

"You didn't?" she said, suddenly looking terribly hurt.

"No! I mean, yes!" he spluttered. "I mean—it's not—I enjoy spending time with you, I think you're really great, I…"

"It's okay," she said quickly.

"No, I—"

"I'm ever so certain we should get going soon, if the reservations are for seven."

"Oh," he said, looking down at his watch. "Are you sure? I mean, we still have enough time that—"

"I'm sure. I'm oh so certain I was starting to get bored anyway."

"Right. Let's get going."

He smiled half-heartedly at her as they headed to the front closet and began pulling on jackets and scarves.

"Warm enough?" he asked her, because the plan was to walk to Bigal's Café. She nodded, completely decked out in her white gloves and matching hat and scarf. They began to head out the door and down the cement steps.

"I just love this time of year, you know, when the weather gets oh so cold, and snow starts to fall, and the whole city just gets…"

But the words seemed to die in Lila's throat at the sight that met the two of them on the sidewalk. Both teenagers froze in their tracks, staring.

His bike – the bike his father had given him for his thirteenth birthday – was resting in front of them. It was exactly where Arnold had left it, beside the stoop. But it had been completely desecrated. Both tires were so flat they appeared to have been slashed with a knife. The seat and chain drive were glowing with some sort of neon orange spray paint, which was still dripping into the cracks in the sidewalk, apparently having been freshly applied.

"Oh," Lila breathed softly.

All Arnold could do was stare. In the shock of the moment, the air around him seemed to be thinning out, as though no amount of it would be enough to feed his lungs.

"How awful," Lila tried again.

Some part of his brain knew he was being stupid. But suddenly, Arnold had no time to gather the willpower to stop the tears that pricked instantaneously at the corners of his eyes. He became painfully aware of Lila's focus shifting onto him and felt his stomach cave in as he attempted to suck in another deep breath. Having to deal with the embarrassment of crying in front of Lila over a non-motorized vehicle was not exactly what he wanted right now.

"I'm ever so sorry." Gingerly, Lila reached out with one gloved hand and placed it on his shoulder.

"Yeah – well – I – " What he really wanted to say was _me too_. What he wanted to give her was the number of alleyways in Hillwood this bike had taken him through. He wanted to explain how he and his parents had trekked to the edge of the city together, riding all the way to the boardwalk of Cyclone Island, stopping only for hotdogs with all the works in paper wrappers (his dad's favorite). He wanted to describe that one summer when the Patakis had still been living in Big Bob's Beeper Emporium, and just as he'd arrived, Helga had stepped out of the front door wearing a strapless sundress, which had distracted him so badly he'd crashed his bike into the mailbox and spent two months repaying Bob for the damage in weekly installments.

But he couldn't say any of that. He couldn't manage to get any words out at all.

"What a terrible accident," Lila said wistfully.

Arnold remained motionless, glancing back and forth from the bike to the girl beside him.

"It's just such a shame," she continued. She shook her head.

"Sorry, I… accident?"

"Oh, yes."

"Somebody _did_ this," Arnold blurted out, as though the obvious needed voicing.

"Don't say that," said Lila pleadingly.

"Lila," Arnold snapped. "There's no way this happened by accident. Look at it. Somebody _wrecked_ my bike."

"It could have been an accident," Lila insisted, her voice growing increasingly high-pitched. "I just hate thinking someone could have done something so mean on purpose."

"How on earth could a bike be vandalized by accident?"

"I… I don't exactly know." She bit her lip.

Arnold inhaled slowly.

"There's no use mulling this over now," he said finally, quietly. Lila nodded quickly, looking relieved.

"Let's not let this ruin our dinner. I'll worry about it later," he added, not just because of their dinner reservations, but because truthfully, he couldn't bear to worry about it now. Crime happened in Hillwood – that much was just an inevitable part of living in the city. But why had someone taken the time to do something like _this_? It would have made more sense if they'd just stolen the bike. The senseless act of destruction that the perpetrator had chosen to carry out instead gave Arnold the prickling feeling that someone had actually personally targeted _him_ , as though knowing full well the bike's meaning to him.

Pushing his bike up against the Sawyers' front stoop as carefully as he could so as not to get paint anywhere, he managed to swallow the burning feeling at the back of his throat and offer Lila a tiny smile. She returned it uncertainly.

They walked to Bigal's in complete silence. Arnold, caught in his cloud of thoughts, was unable to figure out what else to say. Lila followed suit, walking beside him silently with a slightly trepid expression on her face.

 _Now Serving Foie Gras!_ read the sign at the front of the restaurant as they arrived at the entranceway. Bigal's had grown exponentially more expensive over the last few years. They were met with a long line that snaked out the front doors and down the sidewalk. It made Arnold very glad he'd thought to actually make reservations. What would they have _talked_ about if they'd had to wait in line for an hour? After skirting through the crowd of people, they gave the maître d' Arnold's name and were led through the loud, bustling café.

"Oh, look who's here," Lila said suddenly. They had just passed by the tank full of lobsters, their claws bound with rubber bands. "Hello, Harold!"

Arnold followed Lila's gaze to the table directly behind the crustaceans. Harold Berman was indeed sitting there, by himself, staring very intently at his menu as the two of them walked by. He was so focused on what he was reading that he didn't even look up upon hearing his name.

"Harold," Arnold tried. "Hi."

Still, Harold didn't glance away from the menu.

"Please be seated," the host instructed them then, pointing to an empty table. Arnold looked over and shrugged at Lila as they slid into booths across from one another. A young man wearing a sullen grimace and a nametag reading "Reynoldo" appeared beside them.

Wordlessly, Reynoldo began pouring them glasses of water from a silver pitcher. He filled Lila's first. As he picked up Arnold's, however, the pitcher slipped out of his grasp. Before Arnold knew what was happening, his hair was sopping wet, as was his shirt, which was so soaked it began dripping water onto the floor.

Arnold reached up on reflex and rubbed the water out of his eyes.

"Whoops," Reynoldo said. His face was strangely bored looking. "Let me wipe that up for you."

He dipped into the pocket of his apron and pulled out a rag, which he began dabbing at Arnold's temple with.

"It's okay," Arnold told him quickly. "I'm fine."

"Ooh, they have fettucine and alfredo sauce," Lila said dreamily. "I just love fettucine and alfredo sauce."

"Why don't you get it?"

"Oh, no." She gave him a faintly horrified look. "It has so many calories."

"Oh… right…" Arnold glanced down at his menu again. He had been planning on getting a cheeseburger and fries, but suddenly he felt awfully self-conscious about that decision. Wait a second, was that a _girly_ thing to think?

"I think I'll get the sparkling water and Caesar salad. I just adore Caesar salads."

"More than fettucine alfredo?"

"Almost as much as fettucine alfredo."

"That sounds good."

They stared blankly across the table from one another. Lila looked down, apparently intensely interested in examining her nails.

It felt to Arnold like a hundred or so minutes before Reynoldo appeared at the table again to take their orders, and another hundred minutes after that until he'd come back with their food. When he spotted their water again – with a towering salad for Lila and a burger (no cheese) for Arnold – his stomach leapt with relief.

"Ooh, thank you ever so much. It looks just delicious."

"Thanks," Arnold echoed after, but there was a loud crashing noise as the second plate in Reynoldo's hands fell to the floor. Suddenly, Arnold could feel something slimy trickling down his forehead.

On reflex, he leapt out of his seat. The burger was in his lap; his hair dripped with the condiments and stray lettuce leaves. Fries were spilling every which way – down his shirt, onto the table, onto the floor. The shattered remains of the plate Reynoldo had broken were also on the floor.

"Oh, no!" Lila yelped out, holding her hands to her face as though she'd just been witness to a horrific crime scene. Arnold blinked at her from behind the grease coating his eyelashes.

"Whoops," Reynoldo mused. He looked down at the watch on his wrist. "Sorry about that, kid."

"I…" Arnold muttered, staring down at the mess surrounding him. He didn't want to make this butterfingered young waiter feel badly, but on the other hand: _really_?

"I'll go get you another one," said Reynoldo, and was off again before either Arnold or Lila could say a word.

"Arnold," Lila said slowly. "Maybe you should go… rinse yourself off?" She cringed. "There's mayonnaise in your hair."

"Yeah… you're right." He paused. "Go ahead and start eating. I'll be right back."

He began to make his way towards the bathroom at the back of the dining area.

As Arnold stood over the sink, splashing water onto his face and attempting to wipe his head with wads of paper towels from the dispenser, the eerie feeling that someone was out to get him increased.

But that didn't make any sense, did it? He stared, bewildered, at his reflection in the mirror. He was being paranoid. Wasn't he?

When he decided to return to the table, having come to the conclusion that he was clean as he was going to get until he had access to a shower, seeds from the buns were still falling from his hair.

 _It was an accident_ , he reminded himself firmly again. Lila was studying her phone, silverware still rolled up in her napkin and food untouched. She was politely waiting for his second burger to arrive before starting in on her own meal, it seemed.

"You didn't have to wait for me, Lila," he told her.

"Oh, Arnold. Don't be so silly. I wouldn't want to start without you."

It took another twenty minutes before Arnold's burger was ready.

He smiled uncomfortably. "So, erm, you were saying earlier that you enjoy the weather this time of year?"

"Oh, yes. And the holidays. They're my absolute favorite, but I– "

"But you?" He prompted her.

"Hold on - Arnold - AUGHHH!"

Arnold heard Lila's horrified scream seconds before he felt the hot liquid trickling across his scalp and down his back, scalding his skin. He leapt out of his seat on impulse. Their waiter had returned seemingly out of the blue, carrying a now half-empty pot of coffee, the other half of which had just been poured all over Arnold's head.

"Oops," Reynoldo said in a bland voice. "Sorry, that was an accident."

But Arnold couldn't contain himself anymore.

"An accident? How could it be an accident? We didn't even order coffee!"

"Arnold," Lila mumbled. "I'm certain that -"

"Excuse me for a second," Arnold said, chair scraping against the floor as he stood up. He was going to have blisters on his back from the burning water.

"Arnold, I'm ever so certain you're _embarrassing_ me."

But Arnold ignored her as he caught Renyoldo by the sleeve of his white collared shirt. "What is this about, anyway? Why are you doing this?"

The young man blinked uncomfortably. "Look, kid, I –"

"Wherever you were going with that coffee, it wasn't to us!"

"I… got distracted… thought you guys ordered some."

"Oh, come on!"

"Okay. Fine."

Arnold crossed his hands over his chest, blinking.

"He slipped me five twenties, okay?"

"What?"

"Dunno anything else," Reynoldo continued, in the same monotone voice. "I just needed the money. No hard feelings, right?"

" _Who_ slipped you five twenties?"

"Him," Reynoldo motioned with his thumb toward the table near the lobster tank, where Harold Berman was still sitting by himself. "Chubby kid with the hat. Said he wanted me to mess a few things up for you tonight."

Lila's eyes expanded to the size of saucers.

"But, I," Arnold mumbled, struggling to take this in. "Why?"

"What am I, a mind reader? Go ask him if you want to. He already paid me up anyway." Reynoldo shrugged and began to walk away towards the next table, refilling a middle-aged couple's mugs with the remainders of the coffee pot.

"Arnold," Lila whispered. Even amidst all of the other noise surrounding them in the restaurant, he could hear how rushed and frantic her voice sounded. "You look… you look ever so angry… hold on for just a moment… don't do anything brash, calm down, just—"

But Arnold had had enough. He stood up and marched several feet towards the small table until he was right beside the boy who'd threatened to beat him up so many times in elementary school.

Harold was bent over the placemat in front of him. He was coloring, Arnold realized, with a set of primary-colored crayons meant for the small children who frequented Bigal's with their families.

"Harold."

"Whadda you want? I'm busy here, can't you see I –" He broke off and let out a small yelp as he looked up. He was clutching the placemat in front of him to his chest like a shield.

"Why?" Arnold asked evenly.

"Why what?"

"You know what!"

"I do not!"

"Why'd you do it?"

Harold let the placemat fall to the table and began to fiddle with the blue paper wrapper on a crayon instead. "I dunno what you're talking about."

"Look, Harold, your cover's already been blown. The waiter told me. So you might as well come out with it now. Be honest." Arnold ran a hand through his sopping hair, wincing as a tomato became dislodged and fell to the floor. "Don't you remember… don't you remember when I helped you work out day and night so you could lose weight? When I got you your very own pet cat in the seventh grade after Cupcake died? When—"

"Cupcake," Harold said, sighing fondly. "I miss her. Gingersnap's a close second, though. Actually, it's tied. Yeah, it's tied. Gingersnap and Cupcake. The two best pals a guy could have."

" _Harold_."

"What?" Harold pouted, but his face was filled with shame. "Okay, okay. You're a good pal, too. Look, I wouldn'ta done it on my own, alright? I was… I was helping… a friend."

Arnold's eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

"Well… I mean… a friend, sorta."

"So… you were helping a friend, sorta," Arnold repeated slowly. "To dump my dinner on me. And hot coffee, which might give me third degree burns, by the way. And my bike?" he added, looking warily into Harold's eyes. "The bike my dad gave me? Was the destruction of that… also your doing?"

Harold looked down at his hands. "Yeah," he said quietly.

Arnold shook his head, numb with disbelief.

Harold looked up again. "And that's not all of it, either. Just… just don't touch your second dinner, alright?"

"Why not?"

"It's gonna be laced with la… la.. what's the name of that stuff again? You know, the stuff that makes you shit your pants?"

" _Laxatives_?"

"Yeah, that's it. Wouldn't touch that meal, if I was you."

"I—"

"And I guess I shouldn't unleash the lobsters, or set fire to your table, either. See, I was told to unlatch the tank, and then figure out how to push your napkin up against the candle while you were in the bathroom, and then —"

"Harold!"

"What?" Harold said nervously.

"Are you going to give me a _reason_ for any of this?"

Harold said nothing, rubbing his hands against his temple.

"You were at the movie theater a couple weeks ago, too. Were you on your mission _then_?"

"Yeah."

"Who told you to do all this?" Arnold demanded.

"That's information I… I can't give to you."

Arnold sighed testily, staring the boy in front of him up and down.

"Well, why did you agree to do all this?"

"The money!" Harold wailed. "I just wanted money. I wanted the money cause I wanted Patty to have a nice party, and… and… and… I failed, even at that." He thrust his head down into his hands and began sobbing.

"But… but…"

"I didn't think I'd get a lot of money or nothin, just a little money. Only now, I don't have anything at all."

"Harold—"

"Just leave me alone, Arnold! You have no idea what it's like being me! Patty never even _asked_ why I didn't get her anything for her birthday! You know why? It's cause she knows I'm a big dumb loser, and she never expected anything different from me!"

"But Harold, I—"

"I said leave me _alone_ , Arnold!"

Beside himself, Harold knocked over his chair as he stood up, bolting out of the café in tears.

* * *

He was the loveliest boy in the whole world.

It was all Rhonda could think as she ran her hands through his hair, across his chest.

He was perfect.

And _she_ was the one he was spending time with. Still.

"You're beautiful, Rhonda Lloyd."

Samuel's voice came out almost as a whisper. In the light of the moon pooling through his bedroom window, she could see only those glittering amber eyes, and the shapes of his football trophies on the wall behind them, marking every single one of his victories.

"I'm ready," she whispered back. Her voice carried through his bedroom like the promise of a high school lunch bell.

And Samuel didn't even stop to ask her if she was sure.

* * *

"So… I…"

Lila was trying to make him feel better, Arnold thought. But she didn't know what to say to him, it seemed.

And neither, really, did he know what to say to her.

"I'm ever so sorry," she finished. "About your bicycle, and your clothes, and just, well, just everything. I can't imagine why somebody would purposely want to hurt a sweet boy like you."

He looked down at his knuckles, internally debating what, if anything, he should tell her. There was a thought in his head. But that thought was a bad one, an uncomfortable one, and to him, in all its unbearable rawness, a devastating one. And telling her would make it a real possibility. He wasn't sure that was a responsibility he was willing to take on.

"I don't know," he said quietly.

The evening light outside had faded quickly, the city lit by streetlamps and skyscrapers instead of the sun. On a better night – Arnold thought – he might have done more than walk Lila home. He might have stepped inside with her, laughed with her, sat with her on her couch until they were both too tired to sit up straight anymore.

But he didn't feel like doing any of those things, right now. He was too focused on trying to figure out whether he was going crazy, or whether it was indeed possible that the only girl he'd ever loved was really so dead set on destroying him. Whether Helga Pataki had actually _paid_ Harold to pull all of those stunts tonight.

He didn't want to believe it was even a possibility. But wasn't it too much of a coincidence - the fact that Harold and Curly had both been present for the disasters of Lila and Arnold's first date, and the fact that Curly Gammelthorpe was friends with just about one and only one person in Hillwood?

And besides, who _else_ had ever had any motive for wanting to make him so miserable?


	13. The Damage is Done

**Author's Note:** Thank you very, very, very much for your reviews. And for being the best. Whatever's going on in your life right now, you'll be alright. Promise.

* * *

13: The Damage is Done

Helga Pataki was having a bad day.

She was mostly always having a bad day. But today had been exceptionally terrible, especially for a Friday. She'd woken up at six in the morning, first of all, to Bob blowing a gasket over some mistake a junior-level employee had made at the Emporium. _Then_ , at school, she'd stormed into the girls' bathroom and accidentally ripped her favorite pink hair ribbon while trying to tie up her ponytail, her hands evidently a little too forceful around the worn elastic.

"Helga."

And on top of that, well... the truth was… she was worried.

She couldn't help but notice that the Football Head seemed to have been acting weird over the past week. Weird even for him. She hadn't _talked_ to him, obviously. But every time she'd walked past him in the hallways he'd seemed just – off. Silent. Subdued. She had a horrible feeling about all of it, and she didn't know why, exactly. She wasn't sure what was going on with Arnold and Lila, and she'd decided she _shouldn't_ know, either. It was none of her damn business, for criminy's sake.

"Helga!"

But that logic wasn't doing much to take the edge off the anxiety that had begun to gnaw at her heart. Something wasn't _right_ with him. She just knew it.

"Helga!"

Helga blinked. Phoebe was staring at her like she might've just sprouted a visible lump of cancer.

"What?"

"I'm sorry for raising my voice. You've just seemed so ponderous this morning. Is everything alright? I asked if you were ready to go to lunch."

They were still sitting across from one another in creative writing, a group that had been the bane of Helga's existence even more than Mr. Turner's egomaniacal excuse for an English class. Their completely useless teacher, Ms. Jenkins, insisted on having weekly "circle time" sessions in which they were all forced to read their latest creations aloud to one another. The humiliation of having to share her work would have been deterring enough for Helga even without Ms. Jenkins' added frivolities, which included requiring the class of teenagers to snap their fingers in succession after each reading like some kind of vapid cult members. Helga had been submitting fake-poems since September, today's being a haiku about the back of the box of Frosted Flakes she'd eaten for breakfast.

"You can always tell me if something is on your mind, you know."

"Oh, yeah." She shifted in her seat, looking down at her pink notebook. "I mean, no. It's nothing."

"Do you have something to eat with you today?" Phoebe asked as they collected their bags and made their way down the hall.

"Eh, I think so. A leftover Twinkie."

"Something a bit more nutritious would probably be best."

"Yeah, well."

"Especially with your current rigorous athletic schedule."

Helga snorted. "Maybe I'll puke up chemical chocolate and Tish'll have to cut me from the team. That'll teach her to recruit innocent bystanders for her little projects."

"I tend to think that would be self-punishment. And not the most effective of strategies. If what you really want is to leave the team, it would be best to inform your coach of your intentions yourself."

They had arrived at Phoebe's locker. Helga watched as her friend reached for the top shelf and slid out a blue lunch cooler, complete with three zipper pockets.

"I don't really wanna leave the team, though."

"Yes, I know." Phoebe nudged the cooler into Helga's hands. "Here's a turkey sandwich, a package of multigrain crackers, and some sliced mango."

Helga shook her head, trying to thrust it back at her.

"That's for you, Helga."

"C'mon, Pheebs, forget it. What are you gonna eat?"

"My lunch is here." The tiny girl stood on her tiptoes again to extract another matching cooler, this one green.

Helga was quiet as she looked down at the straps in her hand.

"Unless you don't want it," Phoebe said quickly. "If you don't, you don't need to feel compelled to eat it, I simply thought that –"

"I really don't deserve you. You know that, don't you?"

Phoebe offered her a small smile. "Of course you do. You're my very best friend."

Before Helga could respond, there was a low whistling sound behind them. They whipped around to see Gerald, grinning from ear to ear as he approached them. Phoebe's face brightened as he scooched over and grabbed hold of her waist, kissing her on the cheek.

"Oh, Gerald, don't be so silly," she giggled.

"Hey, Pataki," Gerald said, giving the blonde a friendly wave. Helga returned it genuinely.

"Sup, Geraldo."

"You doing alright?"

"Eh. About as good as usual. I got Pheebs though, so that's what counts."

He reached out and gave Helga a soft squeeze on the shoulder. "Yeah, me too," he paused. "Do we get to have lunch with you?"

She nodded. "Let me just go put my stuff in my locker. I'll meet you guys in the cafeteria, okay?"

She went off down the hallway, clutching Phoebe's lunch cooler tightly. Her mind was beginning to cloud with worry about Arnold again when she heard the familiar voice behind her.

"Helga. Wait for a second."

Helga felt her body freeze up.

The familiar soapy scent overwhelmed her before he was right beside her, with one hand grasping awkwardly at her elbow. She stared down, momentarily flustered.

"Did I give you permission to _touch_ me, Arnoldo?"

"Sorry," he said, immediately dropping his arms to his side. "I was just… I was wondering if I could walk with you for a little."

She felt her face heat up as she silently noted his look of urgency.

"Whatever," Helga grumbled. "I'm going to my locker anyway."

They fell into step with one another, weaving in and out of the clusters of students leaving classes.

"I heard you're training to be on the new girls' lacrosse team. That's pretty cool."

"Yeah, it is, actually."

"When do you guys have your first game?"

"March, I think."

"That's great."

"Yeah."

"Yeah," he agreed.

"Yeah."

"Great."

"Yup."

"Think you'll win?"

"We're gonna cream them."

"I'm sure you will."

"Uh-huh."

"And how have you been… otherwise?"

"Oh, just peachy, thanks for asking." She hesitated for a second. "Heard you're not doing too bad yourself."

"What do you mean?"

"When's the next date with your hot girlfriend?"

Beside her, Arnold turned the color of a tomato.

"I mean, not that I care," Helga spluttered in a feeble attempt to backpedal. "I don't."

She expected Arnold to drop the subject. But something much worse happened instead. His eyes narrowed and he actually straightened up his chest a little as they walked.

"It sounds like you might care." The completely un-Arnold-like challenge in his voice made Helga's stomach drop violently. "At least a little. Or you wouldn't have brought it up. And Lila is not my girlfriend."

"Still just your dream girl then, huh?" she retorted, determined not to let him take the lead in this – whatever _this_ was.

He paused. "Why do you think Lila is my dream girl?"

She refused to answer him.

"She was my dream girl when we were ten years old," Arnold continued, his voice growing slightly higher in pitch.

Helga continued to ignore him.

"We're fifteen now," he said needlessly. "That's... that's five whole years."

"Wow," she snapped. "Great math there, Pythagoras."

"I'm just saying!"

"You're dating her _now_ , aren't you?"

"I guess, but I… I…"

Helga raised her eyebrow, trying to ignore the burning in her chest.

"I mean…. it's just… I really miss you, Helga."

She lost her footing and tripped just as they arrived at her locker. Cursing, she refused the hand Arnold stretched out to her, pushing herself off the tiles and wiping the dust from her jeans.

"Really?" she asked before she could stop herself.

"Yeah," he told her softly. "I've missed you for months."

Her heart began to drum even more wildly against her rib cage.

"I mean, all of this avoiding each other is just pointless," he went on. "I don't know why we can't just be friends."

Embarrassed and disappointed beyond belief, Helga threw her books to the ground and began twirling the wheel on her combination lock feverishly.

"If I wanted your _friendship_ I'd have asked for it myself."

"Okay. You're right. I'm sorry. But listen, I… I have something really important I need to ask you," he took an audible breath. "I'm not making any accusations or anything like that," he added.

"Well, that sounds promising," she snarled. But she froze in place. Arnold was actually _tugging_ at the bottom of her T-shirt with one hand, as though afraid she'd try to escape.

"Helga…" He took a deep breath, eyes taking on a slightly sharper quality as he gazed at her. He immediately released her from his grasp.

She swallowed hard. "What?"

"I just… I need a yes or no answer on this. Okay?"

"A yes or a no answer on _what_?"

He took a deep, slightly shuddering breath. "Was it you?"

She was fully aware of her hands beginning to shake. "Was _what_ me?"

"All of it!"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Arnoldo."

"Well, the thing is that _someone_ has been pretty determined to wreck things between me and Lila." He wouldn't take his eyes off of her face. Helga could feel herself withering under him, like an unwatered plant curling up into itself in the heat.

She didn't know how she managed it, but she let out what she hoped was a derisive-sounding laugh. "And you think that someone is me?"

"Well.. well…" he spluttered. "No, well, I don't, but I—"

"Quit flattering yourself. Like I even care what happens between you and Lila."

"So you have no idea who would be doing this," Arnold said slowly. "None at all."

"No."

"You promise."

"Yes."

"Really?"

" _Yes_! I _promise_ , alright?"

She was staring at the ground as she said the words, but she saw him back up slightly out of the corner of her eye.

"Helga…" he started again, but she refused to look at him. And so he didn't complete the thought.

"You're done interrogating me now?" she asked warily.

"Yeah, I am," his voice grew softer. He gazed at her for a long moment. "Of course I am. I trust you."

"Good," she grumbled, but his words had made her feel like her body was made of lead. She couldn't bring herself to move for a few seconds.

She glared into her locker and managed to reach for her jacket. Several other items that had been smashed haphazardly into the cramped metal space tumbled out to the floor.

"Here," Arnold said, bending over to help her with the mess. She began shoving things back in left and right, taking the items from him as he handed them to her – lacrosse ball, goggles, moldy cheese stick, extra gym shorts, math textbook …

Arnold froze in place suddenly.

"Let's go, Football Head, I don't have all day." She glanced over at him, taking in the crumpled-up plastic bag in his hands. It was empty now, but still adorned with the hand-scribbled label the girl at the pet store had given to Curly: _crickets and waxworms, dune gecko feed._

Arnold's head snapped up.

"Crickets... and waxworms," he said slowly. "Just your afternoon snack, huh?"

He almost sounded like he was going to laugh - but not a normal Arnold laugh. Not even close.

Her heart seized up.

"Arnoldo, I know what this looks like, but..."

"But what?"

"But… see… um…" she stammered.

For a few seconds, he waited. But Helga couldn't for the life of her think of what to say.

"You... you are so… _insane_." Arnold spit out the words as though they burned his tongue.

She flinched. "Okay, fine. I'm a psychopath. Tell me something I don't know. Look, just leave me alone, alright, I need to get to –"

"No!" he said loudly.

"Excuse me?"

"Helga, how _could_ you?"

Helga could feel tears burning out of nowhere at the backs of her eyes. She blinked quickly. "I…"

"Why would you _do_ something like this?"

She swallowed. "Okay… Arnold, listen, I— I know it ended up kind of badly, but you have to believe me. It was just supposed to be a prank. I didn't know Lila was allergic to geckos."

Arnold just continued to stare at her. She began fumbling nervously with her hands.

"Just a prank, I swear. And Curly, he just… he just chose the animal species at random. He likes geckos and he wanted them to be free. We weren't trying to hurt anyone. I swear, Arnold, we weren't. We just wanted to scare everyone enough to make em pee a little, that's all."

"Oh, is _that_ all?"

"I really regretted it. I really, really regretted it. I— I – I wasn't thinking straight. I made a mistake."

"And when exactly _do_ you think straight?"

She blinked rapidly again, completely stung. "Huh?"

"When you're paying your accomplice to wreck my life down to every last microdetail? Is that when you're thinking straight?"

"I didn't _pay_ Curly to free the geckos in the movie theater! Criminy, how pathetic do you think I am? He's my freaking friend, as hard as it might be for you to believe that the psychotic Helga Pataki has any."

"You didn't pay Curly." He finally let out the dry, haunting laugh he'd been holding back. It was angry, and it was filled with hurt. "Maybe you didn't even pay anyone. You just tricked the _collaborator_ you knew would actually do anything you asked for a little extra cash, right?"

"Arnold," she said slowly. "I don't know what you're talking about, but—"

"My bike," he spat out bitterly. "My bike that someone _destroyed_ would... would... would say differently."

Helga's heart was speeding up again, her mind suddenly racing with a slew of confused thoughts. Someone had _destroyed_ her beloved's bike? The one his _dad_ had given him for his thirteenth birthday? Who would do such a thing to her sweet, sweet Arnold?

"Look, Arnoldo, I didn't touch your dumb bike, okay?"

"My _dumb bike_? My _dad_ gave me that bike!"

"I _know_!" she yelled.

"I _know_ you know!"

"Well then, we're all just incredibly knowledgeable here, aren't we, Football Head?!"

"You know, Helga. I've known you since we were three years old, and I've spent the better part of all that time trying to understand you. Even though you did things that were mean, and even though you were sometimes cruel, I think I always knew you had a good heart, deep down inside." He paused. The expression on his face was anguished, broken, like he'd finally come to terms with something too hideous to even say out loud. "But this… this is beyond… I just don't know how I'm supposed to react to this. How does someone with even an ounce of caring or common sense _do_ something like this?"

"Arnold, I—"

"I'm always making excuses for you. Sometimes it feels like all I've ever _done_ is make excuses for you."

"Yeah, I know, you have, and I never deserved that, you never deserved to have to do that—"

"I know you're a good person. I _know_ you are, Helga. Maybe you'll figure that out someday, too. But I don't want to have anything to do with it anymore."

Looking at the floor, he placed the decrepit gecko feed bag in her hand and turned around.

Helga wondered if the black hole coming to swallow her alive was real, or only in her head.

"What the hell does _that_ mean?" she screamed after him. "What do you mean _it_?"

Arnold whipped around to face her one last time, kneading his hands into one another and refusing to meet her eyes. "With _you_ , okay? I don't want to have anything to do with you."


	14. The Light of You

**Author's Note:** Thank y'all so much for the comments. I'm going to make another Miss America speech and tell you how much I wish I could respond to each person under Guest names individually. I really appreciate your feedback. It keeps me going, and I've been having kind of a suckish time of everything lately.

Yeah, poor Helga also hasn't been having a great time of it so far. Things'll shape up for her soon, though, I promise.

* * *

14: The Light of You, It's All I See

The sky was slate gray and streaked with clouds that fizzled and shifted outside Helga's window, ominous with the nearby threat of rain.

"Aunty Elga, Aunty Elga."

"What?"

"Aunty Elga!" Marina chanted again. She was sitting at the edge of the bed, tiny fingers coiled into butterfly fists that furled and unfurled again and again.

" _What_?"

"Play with Mina!"

"How much more can we play?!"

"Pleeeeease," Mina wailed. " _Play_!"

"I'm right here," the teenager mumbled a bit more softly this time. She still had on the sweat-soaked shorts and T-shirt she'd worn at practice. About an hour earlier, she'd come home to find Miriam passed out on the couch for God knew how long, right in the midst of her babysitting duties. Mina was wearing a dirty diaper and wading knee-deep in an overturned bucket of crayons by the time Helga had arrived. Helga had gone into fight-or-flight response - she hadn't even taken the time to try to angrily shake her mother awake. She'd excavated Mina from the wreckage; cleaned her off in the sink; changed her; whisked her upstairs holding one of the organic pureed carrot pouches Olga had packed.

"Grandma sleeping," said Mina. She began fake-snoring in imitation. "Aunty Elga take care of Mina."

"Right," Helga told her as she smoothed the blonde ringlets on her niece's forehead. "Grandma's sleeping."

"Why Grandma sleep?"

"She's tired."

"Why Grandma tired?"

"Sometimes people just are."

"Why?"

"Jeez, Mina, enough with the questions!"

Out of nowhere, Helga suddenly felt her throat closing up. She buried her face in her pillow, letting the fabric cool her skin as the tears came.

"Aunty Elga cry?" came Mina's voice above her. She promptly needled her sticky fingers into Helga's scalp, trying to force her into moving. Helga shifted on the bed. Mina offered out the carrot pouch, the contents of which had mostly already spilled out onto the sheets.

"Aunty Elga no more cry?"

"I'm – not," Helga choked out. She lifted her head up enough to bend over and plant a very wet kiss on her niece's forehead, trying to steady her breathing over that warm, sea salt smell.

"No more cry."

"You are so special, you know that?"

"Yes," Mina said, her gummy smile widening. "Special."

"I mean it. Like, a hundred times cooler than your mom. Only don't tell her I said that."

"Mina," Mina said in response, pointing proudly at herself.

"Actually do tell her. What does she care?"

"Aunty Elga!"

"Let's just watch some TV. What do you say we turn on a little WrestleMania, eh?"

"WrestleMania," Mina repeated happily. "Yes. Mina love."

"Mina loves WrestleMania?"

"Grandpa," the little girl clarified. Helga cringed. It was true: whenever Big Bob was left as caretaker (which for obvious reasons wasn't too often), he sat on the couch belching, farting, and watching wrestling match reruns with Marina held captive at his feet.

Oh Jesus - was she the exact same person as her father? _Please no._

"You know what, Mina? Screw that. We're not going to waste our time together turning into zombie cream puffs. Tell you what," Helga sat up, holding a hand to her head as it throbbed painfully. "Instead of sitting here watching TV in this dried-up old dump, we can go have ourselves some fun. Paint the town red."

"Mina love!"

"You really liked that ice cream last time you were here," Helga noted. Mina had gone completely nuts over the mint chocolate chip at Slausen's. It was Helga's favorite flavor, too.

"Ice cream!" Marina yelled enthusiastically.

"You want to go again?"

"Again!"

Helga took Mina by the hand and climbed carefully back downstairs with her, waiting impatiently while she insisted on bunny-hopping over each step.

Miriam, still snoring on the couch when they descended, bolted awake at the sound of Mina's carrying giggle.

"Oh! Girls!" Miriam wiped at the drool running down her chin. "Helga… sweetie… when did you get home?"

"We're going out, Mom." Helga tried to hold Mina still as she helped her wriggle into her coat and pink pom-pom hat.

"Grandma eat ice cream?"

"No," Helga snapped. "Grandma's not coming with us to eat ice cream."

But she stopped in the kitchen before they left, yanking out the tall glass imprinted with ravens. Miriam had fallen back asleep by the time Helga returned to leave the glass on the coffee table, the water filled all the way up to the brim.

* * *

"God, she's gross."

"She literally looks like a bird," Connie added. "Her nose takes up like half her face."

The four girls, Rhonda, Connie, Kelly, and Emily, were sitting in the Lloyds' living room, scrolling through the pictures on their media feeds.

" _Day with the bae_ ," Kelly said mockingly, reading the caption on the bottom of Milliana White's latest post, a picture of her smiling with her boyfriend. "I can't."

"Milliana does not wear anywhere near enough makeup to cover up her acne," Emily lamented. "Not that I'm judging her for having acne. But it's like, at least learn how to use foundation so that people don't have to look at that all the time."

"Hers is nothing compared to Lusetta Weston's," Rhonda pointed out. "And I _do_ judge people for having acne. It's just lazy. All it takes is a proper skincare routine."

Rhonda stretched her legs out on the couch, rubbing more Lubriderm onto her kneecaps.

"Speaking of baes, Rhonda," Connie said suddenly. "I heard you and yours have been… getting hotter."

She glanced at Emily and the girls snickered. Rhonda felt her stomach brew uncomfortably.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about."

"But I _don't_."

"You two…" Connie trailed off, gesturing crudely with her hands. Rhonda's heart rate increased to a hundred miles per hour.

"How do you know?" Rhonda demanded.

"Oh, girl, don't worry, it's totally cool," said Connie. "I just never knew you were like that. It's not like there's anything wrong with it, though."

"I _know_ there's nothing wrong with it, but I asked you how you knew."

Connie gave another meaningful glance to the other girls before biting her bottom lip.

"Rhonda, please. You really think any member of the Hillwood football team would keep something like that to himself?"

* * *

Standing behind the counter at the ice cream parlor was none other than Bill Slausen himself, all decked out in the customary green apron. Helga hadn't seen him in months. Last time she'd come in here, they had been greeted by another random employee on shift.

"Helga. What a nice surprise."

His smile was soft, slow. He watched while she unzipped Mina and wrestled the hat from her head, careful not to tug too hard at any of her butter curls.

"Sup, Bill."

"I was wondering when I'd see you again."

"Well, you're in luck," Helga returned. "It's me, in the flesh."

"And?" Bill asked, his eyes trailing towards Mina as she ran to the countertop and pummeled her hands up against the glass.

"My niece. Say hi, Mina."

"Hi!"

"Your niece," he repeated, suddenly with a faraway look in his eyes. "My goodness."

Marina took a total of twenty seconds to demand mint chocolate chip ice cream in a wafer cone, the exact same thing she'd gotten last time.

"Make it two," Helga added. "I still get that twenty percent employee discount, right?"

"Right. But no need today. It's on the house."

Mina had turned her attention to the freezer of ice cream cakes, decorated with bright frostings and character decals.

"Gee, thanks." Helga briefly took mental count of the shorts she was still wearing underneath her coat. "This isn't gonna be like one of those creepy Missing Person stories where the charming old guy ends up abducting the teenage girl though, right? Because I'm really not in the mood for that tonight."

"That's a plot twist I didn't have planned for myself," Bill told her calmly. "So I hope not."

He scooped up their orders and Helga took them, sliding with Mina into one of the booths.

* * *

"Seriously, Rhonda, you shouldn't take it personally," Emily explained. Her hair was fanned out in glittering waves over the couch, where she was lying on her back. "Guys are just like that, you know? Everything's a game to them when it comes to that stuff. It's like they have competitions with each other. _Who's hotter, Emily or Rhonda? Bet you I can get the hotter one. How many girls can I_ —"

"You weren't there. You don't know how it was. Samuel and me; _we_ have something different than that."

Kelly smirked.

"We _do_ ," Rhonda told her firmly.

Emily sat up. "Go ahead then. Go up to him at school. Tell him you want to be his little girlfriend. Do it in front of everyone, if you're so sure of yourself."

* * *

Slausen's was empty at the moment, but would probably be picking up soon for the evening rush, Helga thought, as she looked at the huge white clock on the wall. How she didn't miss this place.

"No, no, not like that," she snapped at Mina, who was nibbling at the bottom of her cone while the ice cream dribbled down all over her lap. "Bill, can we get a cup over here or what?"

Mr. Slausen came over with the paper cup and pink plastic spoon, sliding it over the mess Marina had made. Distracted by these exciting new objects, Mina jammed the empty spoon into her mouth and began chewing on it while the ice cream continued to melt.

"Hard to believe," Bill said, his eyes taking on that preoccupied look again. "This must be Olga's daughter, right?"

Helga nearly dropped her cone. "Since when do you know my sister?"

"There aren't many people who live in this city that I don't know," he said.

"Well, she doesn't live in this city anymore. They live in Pleasant Chester. About an hour away."

"Pleasant Chester," Bill repeated. "How interesting."

"Rich husband. You know how that goes."

Bill took a seat across from them, looking on as Helga continued to lick lifelessly at her ice cream and Mina turned to chewing the paper cup.

"You look even sadder than your usual," he said, after several beats.

Helga glared at him. "Thanks for the diagnosis. Think you could write me a prescription for Prozac, too?"

"No. I can, however, recommend an adolescent therapist. I've had enough teenagers working here over the years to be acquainted with most of them."

She slumped down in the booth. "I don't _do_ therapy. Except Dr. Bliss." She paused, unable to disguise her sorrow. "They made me stop going to her after eighth grade."

"Who did?"

"I don't know, the school district. Cause she's an elementary school counselor. The Hillwood principal fed me some crap about 'different resources for high school students.' Like I'm gonna just start pouring my heart out to some new rando in a dress suit."

"Definitely not if a dress suit is involved."

"Exactly."

"The very idea is ridiculous."

Helga exhaled quietly as she began to fiddle with the metal napkin dispenser. "I really miss her sometimes."

"I can imagine."

"She told me she hoped I would stop by again to say hi to her. But how pathetic would that be? So I never did."

"Understandable."

"I don't have anyone to talk to. I mean, anyone who's like, a functioning adult."

"I'll listen to you."

"You don't count," she snapped.

"I can see your point." Bill shrugged as he began to rise from the booth.

"Alright alright, if you _have_ to know, my life is completely miserable, everything on the planet is the worst, and the boy I've loved sickly, passionately, and desperately since I was three years old hates my stinkin guts and thinks I'm a waste of space." Against her will, Helga felt the tears burning at the back of her eyes again.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Bill said as he sat back down.

"And I know I didn't even do what he thinks I did, but it doesn't matter because I did do another thing he knows I did, and even if I hadn't done that other thing I'm never gonna be the kind of girl he wants to be with and I'm never gonna stop being hopelessly obsessed with him either."

"That certainly sounds like a predicament."

"I mean, he likes girls that are all sweet and pretty and nice all the time and I can't do that, Bill. If I _could_ be that way, then I would. I would _love_ to be dainty and kind and gentle! I would _love_ to to be Cinderella flouncing around in a stupid little dress and dancing in circles with all the freaking baby animals! But I can't."

"No, you almost certainly can't dance with baby animals."

"That's what he wants, though. He wants someone like _Li-la_ , and now, he finally has her."

"Excruciating."

"The whole thing makes me sick."

"Just hearing about it makes me sick, too."

"Quit messing around. I said I needed a functioning adult, remember? You're supposed to be dishing out advice over here. What should I do?"

"I don't know," Bill replied. "But if I had to guess, I'd say you should continue internally berating yourself and allowing your sense of worth as a person to revolve around this one single boy's approval."

Helga scowled, leaning back into the seat as far as she could go.

"I didn't ask for your sass."

"I didn't ask for yours, either. And yet here we are."

Beside her, Mina had grown quiet with sleepiness. She let the cup drop out of her mouth and nestled into Helga's lap. Bill watched them for a few moments, his eyes flickering softly.

"Olga used to work here too, you know," he said at last. "When she was about the same age as you."

Helga rolled her eyes as she stroked Mina's hair. "She did not. _Olga_ didn't work at an ice cream shop when she was fifteen. She was too busy gallivanting across stages and winning trophies."

"Oh, but she did. You probably don't remember, but that's how I met you for the first time."

"Huh?"

Bill nodded. "It feels like just yesterday to me. You were so little then. Olga used to bring you in here for ice cream every single chance she got."

Helga gave him a dark glare. "Well, she was probably parading me around like one of her stuffed animals."

"Probably. Olga was a star employee, as a matter of fact. Very hardworking girl. She always smiled at the customers. Always. It didn't matter what day it was, or what the weather was like."

"I'm sick of this story," Helga snapped.

"But the combination of the two of you was what always stuck in my mind. Whenever she brought you in here, I remember thinking that I'd never seen such a tiny little girl who looked so angry all the time."

"Your sexist-old-white-guy is showing again."

"Little girl _or_ little boy."

"Hm."

"Very much reminded me of my own family."

"Why? Do you have an asshole sister, too?"

"I had an older brother, Stanley Slausen."

Mina grunted slightly in her sleep and wrapped her little fists tightly around Helga's waist.

"In the sixties, there wasn't a thing Stan couldn't do. He was smart, handsome, athletic. Quarterback of the high school football team. Straight-A student. Every girl wanted to go steady with him."

"Sounds awful," Helga grumbled.

"Very much so. I lived the first nineteen years of my life in his shadow. For many years, I think, I didn't try at all. He was the apple of my family's eye. I was always second best to him, no matter what dice I tried to roll. I felt like the game had always been rigged in his favor, from the very beginning."

"But your dad wanted little old _you_ to inherit the family business?" Helga cut in. "Or was your brother too busy with more important stuff?"

"He was dead," Bill said quietly. "He took his own life when he was twenty-two years old."

Helga felt her throat go dry.

"Oh."

"It happened three months before he was set to marry his high school sweetheart. The whole world was at his feet."

"That... that really sucks, Bill."

"Yes," he agreed. "It does suck. But it was a long time ago now."

"I guess."

"Still, over the past forty some years, I've wondered and dreamed and wished. I've had nightmares, and I've come to peace with what happened. But I've never stopped believing that things could have turned out differently for Stan. As his brother, I could have been there for him. I could have helped him."

Helga swallowed.

"But I wasn't able to. I never realized anything was wrong until it was too late. I was too busy being jealous of him."

"A character flaw of yours, huh?" she quipped in an attempt to lighten the somber mood.

"A character flaw for you and me both, I think."

Ordinarily, she'd have shot back with a rebuttal to such an obvious insult. But she didn't have the heart.

"I guess so," Helga admitted. "But if you're saying that Olga is secretly suicidal, I - "

"No, Helga, I'm not suggesting that. I was just sharing my story with someone I trust."

She offered him a half-smile as she pulled Mina further up to her chest. "So how'd you get over your raging jealousy issues, after all that?"

"It was the only thing that did help me get over it. I realized how little I knew about the struggles of the people around me, even people I loved. And once I realized that, the world began to look different. I stopped thinking so hard about what I wasn't. And I started to become who I was."

"So?" she prompted him. "Who are you?"

"Bill Slausen. Confidante, friend, supervisor, ice cream lover extraordinaire." He paused. "And you?"

"Helga G. Pataki," she said. "Not sure about any of the rest."

"Well, I'd say that's an excellent start."

The bell above the glass door jingled and a young family made their way in, talking and laughing gently, their faces pink with cold. Helga stood up as slowly as she could, so as not to wake her sleeping niece up as she wrapped her in her jacket and prepared for the trek home.


	15. Where’s My Moral Parallel?

**Author's Note** : Thank you again for being you.

And to the guest reviewer Ezza: thank you for your consistent feedback. Aunty Helga is my favorite, too, hahaha. Helga is such a sweetheart underneath it all. I love thinking about how she'd actually act as an aunt and how her maternal side would develop as she gets older. Not that all girls have to be maternal, but you understand what I mean, right? Helga is a super loving person at her core and would probably be beyond awesome with a kid she really cares about. Have a great Labor Day weekend, y'all.

* * *

15: Where's My Moral Parallel?

Lila woke to the sound of music spilling in from the stereo in the living room. It was _Ave Maria_ : her daddy's very favorite, mostly because it had always been her mama's very favorite. She lay still for a moment, breathing in between the sheets while the piano-soaked melody swallowed her up. Outside, a light dusting of snow had begun to coat the concrete. She stared out at the lovely snowflakes as they fell, trying to number them before she finally lost count and made her way out of bed and into the hallway.

"Morning, sweetheart," her father greeted her.

"Hi Daddy. No work today?" she asked hopefully.

"Took the day off. They need me for a double shift tomorrow for Christmas Eve."

"And closing early on Christmas Day?"

"Closing early on Christmas Day," he confirmed, smiling.

"Oh, good." She clasped her hands together. "That will do just wonderfully."

"Should we make our cookies this morning?"

"Yes, please. That way we'll have time to let them cool, and we can frost them in the afternoon."

Lila hurried into the kitchen and began to pull the collection of wooden rolling pins and cookie cutters from the cupboard. No sooner had she begun to separate the Santas from the reindeer when the doorbell buzzed, so weakly it was almost inaudible. Her father had been planning on buying new batteries for it this week, but the installments of colored frostings and confetti sprinkles he'd invested in instead had set them back a paycheck.

"The doorbell rang, Daddy!"

"Did it? Hold on, I'll get it."

She continued to sift through the cupboard, extracting a bag of flour, wax paper, sugar.

"Lila, it's your friend here for you."

Lila's stomach twisted guiltily. _It must be Arnold_ , she thought. Nearly two whole months had gone by, and she hadn't yet found the heart to ask him what she wanted to - or to tell him what she knew she needed to. She had tried to see him differently. She really had. But how could she just force herself to conjure up feelings that didn't exist? And now, no words she could come up with in her mind seemed to feel quite right. _Arnold, are you really the one who's been writing me all these notes? I appreciate it, but you see, as it turns out, I still don't like you. I mean, I like you… I just don't_ like _you. Is that okay? Can we be friends again? I'm_ _ever so sorry_.

She sighed as she laid the measuring cups out on the countertop and made her way to the front door. If only she'd gone with her first instincts rather than listen to Rhonda's dubiously-sourced love advice. She would have been perfectly happy to carry on with her friendships the way they were, and she wouldn't have had to make anything awkward or hurtful in the process.

"Said she didn't want to come inside," her father told her with a slightly perplexed look on his face. "It's cold out there, can't imagine why she's just standing there without even a jacket on."

 _She?_ Lila wondered. Had Rhonda or Nadine come to see her unannounced? She moved past her dad towards the open door.

The girl standing on the stoop was indeed wearing only a T-shirt and sweatpants – no coat, no gloves, no hat. Snow had collected all around the top of her blonde ponytail. She was rubbing nervously at her elbow with one hand, the other holding a small box wrapped up in green paper.

" _Helga_?"

"Hi."

"I…" Lila blinked in confusion. "I'm certain I wasn't expecting to see you."

"Yeah, well. Here I am, Sunshine."

"Where's your coat?"

"Does it look like I need one? I'm literally coated in sweat. I ran here. Coach Tish threatened our lives if we came back from winter break out of shape. Do you have any idea how many suicides she's forced on us in the last two weeks?"

"Suicides?" Lila repeated, horrified.

"Not like _suicide_ suicide. It's when you have to sprint back and forth till you puke."

"Oh. Well, that sounds… nice. Helga – it's very nice to see you, it really is… but why—"

"I didn't come here to have some mushy heart-to-heart, if that's what you're thinking. I just wanted to give you this." Helga stepped forward and thrust the box she was holding abruptly into Lila's hands. "That's to say I'm sorry. Okay?"

"Whatever do you have to be sorry for?"

"What do you mean, _whatever do I have to be sorry for_?" Helga stared at her with her penetrating blue eyes. "Didn't Arnold tell you?"

"No." Lila shook her head firmly, bewildered.

"Oh." Helga looked down at the ground, rubbing her elbow still harder. "I thought he would have."

"What should he have told me?"

"Well… the thing is that… remember those geckos that kind of attacked you awhile back and gave you rashes and everything?"

"Yes, I do."

"I was the one who… well, I mean, I was involved in setting those freakish little guys loose on you."

Lila's eyes widened.

"And I'm sorry," Helga said hastily. "I'm really sorry. That's why I'm here. I wanted you to know that… that I didn't mean to hurt you. Not that that's an excuse. It's not, I just…"

Lila looked down at the gift in her hands.

"Anyway," Helga mumbled. "I'm gonna go ahead and go."

She turned around and tried to begin stalking off down the front step, hands clenched slightly at her sides. But Lila reached out and grabbed her by the shoulder just in time.

"Why did you do a thing like that?"

"I said I didn't come here for a heart-to-heart," Helga snapped.

"Well, I'm not going to accept your apology, then."

"Fine! Then don't accept my apology. I didn't expect you to anyway."

"You should stay. For just a little bit."

"No. No stinkin way."

"Come in, Helga. My daddy and I are making cookies."

"I _hate_ making cookies."

"I'm certain you'll like these ones." Lila took Helga more firmly by the hand. "They're going to have frosting."

* * *

"It was wonderful, Eugene. So wonderful."

Sheena's smile was wide as she leaned forward and threw her arms around him, careful not to touch the rhinestones on the plastic crown in his hand.

They were standing backstage together, listening to the high-pitched sounds of Mariah Carey's Christmas music as they piled clothes into Eugene's bag. The dress rehearsal for The King and the Killer Clown had gone wonderfully, he had to admit. He just hoped the live play would be as good.

It was strange, unexplainable. But in that moment, in that dressing room – empty now, except for the two dork-circle-relegated teenagers – he wondered if, maybe, he was ready.

"I have to tell you something," he blurted out.

Sheena gazed back at him, tucking a strand of her long, long, honey-colored hair behind one ear.

"Okay," she agreed. "Go for it."

"Sheena," he hesitated. "There's a reason why I've never thought about dating you, even though your mom always told us what a nice couple we'd make."

She looked back at him for a moment, but she didn't stop placing the items in his duffel bag.

"Yeah?" she said finally.

"Yeah."

"Go ahead. You can tell me."

Eugene looked at his reflection in the mirror. The makeup Mrs. Persad had insisted on accentuated the green in his eyes. He looked quite handsome with it on, he decided.

"I'm gay," he said finally.

Sheena placed the last of his underwear into his bag and threw her arms around him.

"I've been waiting years for you to tell me that."

* * *

"So that's your mom, huh?" Helga was staring at the picture frame on the fireplace mantel, running her fingers gently along its silver trimming. "She looks a lot like you."

"That's what Daddy always says."

"That is what I always say," her daddy echoed beside her. He bent over to give Lila a kiss on the forehead.

"So do you have her picture up here because she's dead?"

Lila blinked. No one had ever asked the question so bluntly before.

"Yes."

Helga nodded, turning her attention away from the fireplace to the peeling paint on the living room walls.

"It's a little bit run down," Lila's father blurted out self-consciously. He was used to having guests like Rhonda, Lila supposed, who couldn't help but make faces when she came inside, even if they were subconscious ones. "We're going to paint it up again soon. Get this whole place cleaned up nice."

Helga rolled her eyes. "You think this place is run down? You're talking to a girl who lived out of her dad's failing beeper warehouse for two years."

"You did?" Lila asked in surprise. "I had no idea."

"Yeah."

"That's ever so interesting."

"Well, it didn't really end up being much more terrible than my life before. You always think stuff like that is going to be more important than it is." She paused, looking thoughtfully at Lila's father. "You seem like a good dad. That's what counts."

He beamed gratefully at the blonde.

"Helga got me a present, Daddy." Thinking quickly, Lila began to delicately peel the green wrapping paper from the box in her hand before Helga could suggest otherwise.

"It's really not that exciting," Helga said hastily.

"You're being oh so silly. I'm _sure_ it's exciting."

Initially, Lila had to take a moment to wrap her mind around what the metal contraption wrapped up in tissue paper even was. It had a tiny wheel covered in what appeared to be dots of Braille, and a hand crank small and delicate enough to twirl with two fingers.

"I know, it's kind of weird, I just thought you might like it. Since it's all girly and stuff like that. I tried to find one that would play the theme song from The Beverly Hillbillies. Thought you might like that, you know, the good ole Clampetts. Remind you of home. Jed, Elly May."

Lila began to spin the hand crank. The opening from The Pink Panther started to play, tumbling out from the little box in high-pitched metallic notes.

"Oh, Helga. You got me a music box?"

"Yeah." Helga suddenly began weaving her fingers in and out. "Like I said, it's not–"

"I'm certain I just _love_ it."

"Oh," Helga replied awkwardly. "Well - Merry Christmas, I guess."

"Come with me for a second," Lila told her, squeezing her hand. "I have something I need to tell you."

* * *

"I have something else I need to tell you, Sheena," Eugene mumbled quietly. He threw his bag over his shoulder. The two of them headed out together, out of the warm building and into the late morning, where snow was falling quietly along the streets.

"Something…" he took a deep breath, trying to steady himself before he lost his nerve. "Something happened to me over the summer. But I didn't tell anybody."

Sheena blinked at him. Staring back at her, Eugene lost track of his footing and accidentally toppled over himself and onto the asphalt below them.

"Eugene!" she screamed.

"I'm okay," he told her faintly, accepting her outstretched hand.

"What happened to you?" she asked then, and he took another deep breath.

"I don't know if I'm ready to say it yet. I needed to take the first step and... and... start."

She looked back at him in confusion before giving his hand a squeeze. "Whenever you're ready, I'm here."

* * *

Lila led Helga to her bedroom, where she placed the music box on the windowsill. There was a buzzing silence as the two of them stood there uncomfortably for a moment.

"Helga, you still haven't answered me. Why did you play such a mean trick on me in the first place?"

"The geckos wanted to be free." Helga scowled, crossing her arms over her chest. "Isn't that answer enough for you? Or am I supposed to write a novel here?"

"No, it's just –"

"I thought so. Are we gonna get to baking those cookies? You said there would be frosting."

"It's just certainly interesting that there are _two_ people out there who seem to have an oh so bewildering interest in making things difficult for Arnold and me right now."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, someone else paid Harold Berman to wreck Arnold's bike, pour his dinner and a compilation of beverages on him, and ruin him altogether with a series of ever so unkind events, and I'm certain that _that_ wasn't you."

"Well, I… wait…" Helga paused suspiciously. "You really think that stuff wasn't done by me? Even after what I told you about the geckos?"

"Of course not." Lila shook her head. "You would never. I know you wouldn't."

For the first time that day, Helga offered her a small smile.

"I… thanks, Lila," she stammered softly, before suddenly exploding. "Wait…. did you say _Harold Berman_? _Harold_ was the one who did this? When I get my hands on that tub of lard, I swear I… I… I'll make that idiot wish he was never born! I'll get to the bottom of this, you hear me?!"

"Please do." Lila stood there for a few seconds as Helga began pacing furiously back and forth, muttering profanities.

"You still like him, don't you?"

" _What?"_ Helga spluttered. "Don't be _ridiculous."_

"You can tell me the truth, you know. I'm not going to tell anybody."

"I dumped Arnold's butt for a reason, and nothing you can twist out of your sweet little mind'll change that, Cupcake Sugar Plum."

Lila couldn't help but notice that Helga's face reddened as she said the words.

"Alright," Lila said gently. "But maybe, since you dated him for so long, you can help me."

"I really doubt it."

"Please look at these," Lila said.

She threw all caution to the wind – she reached under her bed, tugged out the shoebox, and dumped the entire collection of letters and poems into Helga's lap. The yellow-haired teenager looked disdainfully at the papers, like they might have been crawling with bugs.

"This is why I kissed Arnold that night," Lila continued. "Because of _these_. I thought – well, Rhonda thought – Arnold might be writing them to me."

Helga began to sift through the pages, her eyebrow raised.

"Boys like me, a lot," Lila admitted. "But I've never had someone approach me in such an… well, an ever so obsessive way. So when Rhonda decided it must have been Arnold, I felt like I had no choice. I thought I had to change my expectations, and make things more than what they were. To… to try to feel something, if someone really felt so strongly about me."

"Hm. I can see your point. These things reek of desperation."

"Exactly," Lila nodded quickly. "Yes, that's exactly it. How could I not give someone so... so _committed_... a chance? It would seem just mean, just ever so mean."

"Lila," Helga said quietly. She was holding one of the poems out in front of her with two fingers, her face filled with some combination of disgust and curiosity. "I'm sorry to be the one to break this to you."

"But?"

"But Arnold Shortman did not write these."

"He didn't?" Lila asked eagerly, her stomach suddenly simmering with relief.

"I mean, first of all, the boy can't write for beans. Seriously, if you saw him try to string a meaningful sentence together, you'd understand what I mean. He's got a lot of qualities going for him, but that's not one of them. And even if he could, he definitely wouldn't be inclined to think up something so cheesy," Helga said scornfully. "I mean, something about your shiny hair and perfect eyes, sure, but the _untouched purity of your wholesome flower_? I don't even wanna know what that means, but it sounds like some sexist bullshit, and Arnold didn't write it, that's for sure. Never mind the fact that this isn't even close to his handwriting."

"Really? So you think this was all an oh so silly misunderstanding, and maybe he doesn't like me after all?" Lila questioned her, unable to mask her hope.

Helga shifted uncomfortably. "I didn't say that."

Lila sighed heavily.

"Maybe you should just ask him." Helga shrugged, trying to look nonchalant as she shoved the papers definitively in Lila's direction. "Just go ahead and do it. I mean, you're _Lila_. What do you have to lose?"


	16. Swimming in the Deep End

**Author's Note** : Your love and genuine reading of this thing means so much to me. Even if you hate it, or feel it's out of place, or too long, or too short, or whatever your complaints may be, the fact that you're actually taking the time to look at what I wrote is magical. Thank you.

Also - RIP Mac Miller, one of my favorite artists. All of my chapter titles are actually fragments of song lyrics, in case that wasn't clear. I'm shit at coming up with titles, so that's the reasoning behind that. And this one's in memory of him. Thanks for your talent and strength and ability to turn raw emotions into art, Malcolm. You'll be so missed.

* * *

16: Swimming in the Deep End

The snow had all but melted by the time Lila stepped outside. It had been a lovely white Christmas, but not a white New Year's Eve, evidently. Drawing her coat tightly around her waist and padding her hands up in gloves, she began inching her way down the slushy sidewalk. She was holding the beginning stitches of a scarf and her knitting needles, which were too large to fit in her coat pocket.

Rhonda would be hosting another party at her house this evening. Her parents, once again, were vacationing, this time on the luxurious Tahiti Islands. The raven-haired beauty had already described in detail to Lila her plans for the night, which were to include swan-shaped ice sculptures, an actual confetti-filled-midnight-ball-dropping modeled after the one in New York City, and ever so much alcohol. Tonight was the night Rhonda was going to ask Samuel to go out with her once and for all, and she needed everything to be "high-class" for him, she had explained.

Arnold had mentioned just before Christmas - the last time Lila had spoken to him - that he would also be going to Rhonda's for the holiday.

Lila sighed as she neared the boardwalk, lost in her thoughts. Just because she now knew that Arnold wasn't her besotted author-admirer didn't mean that it was going to be any easier to explain her feelings, or lack thereof. She had still kissed him and he had still asked her out, and that meant something to him, didn't it? Or did it? Perhaps Helga was right – perhaps she needed to just ask him outright how he felt. She was growing sick of all these mind games, anyway. If she could just get him to say that he didn't actually like her that way, she reasoned, then she wouldn't have to feel bad anymore. She wouldn't have to be the heartbreaker yet again.

As Lila sat down on the frosty wood, letting her boots dangle inches from the freezing cold water, a low, husky voice rumbled out from right behind her.

"Right chilly day out here, ain't it, Miss Lila?"

Lila jumped, nearly dropping her knitting needles into the river.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't mean ta scare ya. I was just takin my walk and saw ya comin to sit out here. I tried to say hi while you was walkin, but I reckon ya didn't hear me."

"Oh, hello, Stinky," Lila greeted him, staring up at the tall, lanky boy as he towered over her. "Happy New Year."

"It ain't the New Year yet – reckon we got a good thirteen hours. No sense rushin time, my Pa always says, on account a there ain't enough of it as it is."

He hesitated as he looked down at her, as though trying to decide whether to leave her alone and keep walking or continue the conversation.

"Would you like to sit with me?" she offered. "I'm oh too certain I'm not doing anything special, but—"

Stinky collapsed eagerly beside her before she could even finish her sentence, swinging his legs over the edge of the boardwalk. "That's a silly question, seein as the answer's always the same. I'd be honored to sit with ya, Miss Lila."

He proceeded to watch her while she began with her stitch work, her knitting needles now glimmering slightly in the sunlight that had begun to slant in through the clouds.

"Funny." Stinky scratched his head. "I never sawr a person who preferred ta bring their knittin needles out inta the wint'r air and do all them stitches with gloves on, 'stead of just doin their knittin inside where it's warm."

"Oh, I like to practice my stitch work inside, too. Sometimes I just need to step out for some oh so fresh air. I can't go too long without it."

"Reckon I know what ya mean."

"It gets stifling, being inside for too long."

"Sure does. That's why I keep on takin walks, even in tha cold. Like ta get my blood workin up proper."

He gazed out over the body of water that stretched beyond their dangling feet. The city skyline stemmed up on the other side of it, like dozens of uneven, high-rise castles bursting through the gloom.

"It ain't tha prettiest a scenes," he said thoughtfully. "Not like in tha country. But I reckon it's got its own special sorta beauty."

"Yes," Lila agreed, moving her needles effortlessly in and out. "It's been going on seven years already, and sometimes I still need to remind myself to appreciate it just for what it is."

"Would be nice ta see a cow e'ry now and then. Or a horse, or even a bobcat. Anything but these dang squirrels."

"Squirrels and pigeons," Lila sighed.

"If ya think real hard on it though, that's when ya can start to see it like other people do. Take a walk in another man's shoes. I reckon city life is tha stuff that inspires tha poetry a most pop songs, fer instance. On account a celebrities like that, they don't thrive in no country blues farmhouse. They thrive in places like this one here."

"Poetry?" Lila's interest was piqued at that word. A whole new idea suddenly dawned on her. "Do you like poetry, Stinky?"

"Sure I do. Love songs, in addition to tha sad, lonesome poetry a crickets chirpin in the night."

"Do you write poetry?"

"Me? Garsh no. I ain't as high-talkin as all that. Couldn' write me a decent line a poetry if I tried… wouldn' know wheres to put the commas."

"Oh," Lila said with disappointment.

"No sir, that fancy stuff ain't for me. All I got is what's here in my heart." He held a hand proudly over his chest. "Speakin a writin, though, ya put any thought yet into that thirty-page essay Mr. Turner assigned? Due in a week, and I can' even think a where ta begin. I ain't doin so hot in that class."

"I finished it," Lila admitted. "I could help you with yours, if you'd like."

Stinky beamed at her. "I'd sure be ov'r tha moon grateful, if ya could."

"I don't think today will work, though, I still haven't gotten a new dress for – " She cut herself off, feeling her face grow warm. She wasn't sure if Stinky had been invited to Rhonda's extravagant celebration.

"Fer Rhonda's party?" he finished for her.

"Oh, you're going too?"

"Haven' decided yet. It ain't really my kinda thing, but my Pa's not too keen on me spendin all them weekends under tha sun with 'im, specially not New Year's Eve. Says it ain't healthy fer a normal teenager. And Sid and the other guys are goin and all, so maybe I will."

"I like spending weekends with my daddy, too, just ever so much. Rhonda always, well, pushes me to come out. The… only problem… is that she told me I need to wear a semiformal dress tonight." Lila blushed again. "Only I don't have one, and I'm not so certain I can afford one."

Stinky stared at her for a moment before shaking his head.

"You don't need no special dress, Miss Lila. On account a you could show up in your pajamas, and you'd still look right beautiful."

* * *

"You have to go with me, Helga! You have to! You promised you would!"

Curly's voice was lilting, bordering on hysteria. Helga huffed in annoyance.

"Well, I changed my mind."

"You can't just change your mind! Rhonda needs me there tonight! Who's going to be there who will truly appreciate her dazzling beauty? Who's going to comfort her when she asks her faux-prince to date her and it all goes frightfully, outrageously wrong?"

"I'm sure some other sucker can get the job done."

" _J'ai le cafard, mademoiselle_ , for you are very wrong. She needs Thaddeus Gammelthorpe."

"Hm." She drummed her fingers along her bedspread as she turned the page of WrestleMania Magazine.

"I _have_ to be there for her."

"And you _will_ be there for her. You'll be there for her without me."

"I can't!" Curly exploded. "I can't just go without you! Who am I supposed to talk to all night?"

"Bowl of Cheetos, maybe? If they're Hot Cheetos. Or you could just suck up the booze till you're feeling brave enough to march right over and smooch the RhondaLloyd up."

"I'm serious, Helga. You're my only friend, you're the only one who doesn't treat me like a freakish misanthrope on the border of total insanity!"

"Yeah, cause I'm the only one who gets that you're a freakish misanthrope who's already crossed _into_ total insanity."

"So what does that mean? You don't like me, either?"

"Of course I—"

"You don't want me to stay over again tonight?"

"Not if you're gonna keep eating those bean burritos and farting in your sleep, I don't."

Curly slammed his fist down on her bedroom floor and began feverishly rolling up his sleeping bag, tears suddenly coursing down his face.

"Alright, alright, I was just kidding," Helga said in alarm as guilt stabbed at her.

He ignored her, wiping angrily at his eyes as he continued trying to buckle the straps on his sleeping bag.

"Curly, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Come on, put your sleeping bag back. You can't go home, your dad'll give you a black eye. At least Miriam just passes out when she's drunk."

"Just admit it, Helga. I'm not a friend to you. I'm a burden."

"No," she told him, frustrated. "You—"

"I should just move to the Antarctic Peninsula and live amongst my brethren, the emperor penguins."

"That'd be dumb. You'd freeze your ass off."

"No one would miss me here."

"I would."

"You have to implement a security system every time I'm even in here! You pat me down for weapons at the door!"

"Because I don't want you to hurt _yourself_ , not because I think you're some kinda violent offender." She pressed at her temples with her palms. "Look - I know I'm not always good at saying it, Curly, but you mean so much to me. Seriously, you do."

Curly sniffled, wiping his snot on his bare arm.

"I mean sure, you're a freak of nature, but on the flip side," she continued. "You're a real standout in this city."

"This city's full of jerks and pilgarlics."

"What the hell is a pilgarlic? You know what, don't answer that."

"A pilgarlic is a pitiable, bald-headed man who—"

"What would I have done without you this past month? I'd probably still be lying in a pathetic heap on my bed."

"Well, you shouldn't let Arnold make you feel pathetic."

"Same to you, buddy. I mean, you know what I mean. You shouldn't let anyone make you feel pathetic. Especially not your dumb self. Got that?" She climbed over the edge of her bed and began smoothing out his sleeping bag again for him. "Look, I'll go with you to the party if you really want me to. I just wasn't looking forward to having to see Arnold there. What does it matter though, right?"

"Maybe we'll see Harold there, too," Curly pointed out, having heard every detail by now.

"Maybe," Helga agreed darkly. "And then I'll finally get to the bottom of this. He won't be able to dodge me this time, that skeevy, pathetic, weaseling little..."

"Well, gentle Mercutio, what are you waiting for? We have to pick out your outfit."

Cudly rushed over and swung open the closet door dramatically - then blinked at the space inside. It was cleaner than he'd ever seen it before; completely devoid of any lingering remnants of her obsession. No more candles, no pictures, no stacks of pink poetry books. Even her locket, which Helga had been stowing surreptitiously in the pocket of a sweatshirt for a year, was missing.

"Man," Curly said, turning his head towards the scowling blonde slowly. "What happened in here?"

* * *

"Man, what _happened_ in here?"

Gerald had just entered Arnold's room to find it littered with ancient comic books and an assortment of cape-wearing figurines. "Tornado come crashing in with a buncha retro collectors' items?"

Arnold mumbled incoherently in response, poking his head out from underneath his blanket.

"And why are you in bed? It's three P.M."

"I thought I'd try to take a nap." Arnold sat up. "I'm not sure if I can make it all the way through tonight. I'm so tired, I feel like I could sleep for a year."

"Hey, I forgot all about this show," Gerald said reminiscently, picking up one of the plastic figurines. " _The Abdicator_. What a stupid name. So seriously, you tryin to sell these on EBay or something?"

"No," Arnold groaned. "My dad just keeps giving me more and more of them. It's his newest thing."

"That's... interesting."

"I can't tell whether he wants me to be ten years old again or whether he just thinks now is a good time for both of us to re-enter the superhero phase."

"Man, your dad's really been losing his chill lately, hasn't he?"

Arnold buried his face in his pillow.

"Sorry," Gerald added hastily. "I didn't mean -"

"No, it's okay - you're right. I just have no idea what to do about it."

"Maybe there's nothin you can do."

"Maybe."

"Look, I'm sorry to change the subject, but I actually came here because I gotta talk to you about something important."

Arnold hoisted himself out of bed. "Sure. Anything. What's up?"

"It's about Helga," Gerald told him, and Arnold felt his stomach lurch with that awful, awful nausea again.

" _You_ never told me anything," Gerald continued accusingly. "But Phoebe _did_ finally tell me about what happened."

Arnold looked down at his hands. "Gerald, I—"

"And I think you acted real shitty, man."

"What?" Arnold spluttered in shock. " _Me_?"

"Yeah."

"But I'm not the one who -"

"Don't go and do anything stupid like tell her I told you, or Pheebs and Helga'll both skin me alive. But Phoebe said the girl's been crying every friggin day about what you said to her, for weeks."

Arnold's heart leapt horribly into his throat.

"I'm not tryna, ya know, wax morals at anyone. I just felt like - as your best friend, and as someone who's seen _you_ be the buttinsky more often than you've ever been able to keep your mouth shut - it was on me to be the one to tell ya you could really use a kick in the nuts yourself sometimes."

"Gerald, I wasn't trying to hurt her. I never wanted to do that. But I don't think you're being fair. How do you know how many details she gave Phoebe, and how many she left out? Do you even know what Helga did? How many times am I supposed to let her hurt _me_?"

"Look, I get it, but -"

"I still can't stop thinking about her, even after all this time. I _still_ can't move on. I think I love her, and all she does is - and then she - and she does something like _this_? She pays Harold Berman to destroy my bike?" His breath caught in his throat again as he said the words.

"Phoebe said Helga didn't do it."

"Of course she'd say that!"

"So now you're accusing my girlfriend of-"

"No!" Arnold ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "No, I'm not accusing Phoebe of anything."

"Well then what are you saying, man?"

"Gerald, _I_ didn't want to believe it, either. But it's not _possible_ that Helga didn't do it. You - you weren't there! I saw everything, I saw the food for those lizards that attacked Lila come spilling out of Helga's locker! And only then did she admit to anything. So what am I supposed to think? That she came up with this whole crazy plan to wreck our first date with lizards, and somehow, _coincidentally_ , while all this is going on there's also a second unidentified person out there hatching out a bunch of well-thought-out malevolent plots directed against me?"

"I don't know how me and you reversed our roles like this, Arnold. I swear, I don't... but... yes."

"Oh, come on. You can't be serious."

"I trust my girl and for what it's worth, I trust Helga. She's not just your friend, you know. She's mine too and she has been for years. And I know what she would and wouldn't do, and whether or not you guys are goin out anymore isn't gonna change that."

"I thought I knew her too, but - "

"And if what you're saying is true - that the reason you can't give up on her is because you love her and not because your ego is still bruised over being dumped - then you'd trust her, too."

"My ego isn't _bruised_ ," Arnold said, stung, mostly because he wasn't sure whether anyone had ever referred to him as possessing an ego at all. He glared a hole through Gerald's skin as his friend set to work collecting the scattered figurines in his arm, putting them in a neat pile, where they wouldn't inadvertently consume anyone's life anymore.

* * *

The decorations were halfway put up: white pearl garlands partly hung, balloons glittering precariously over the kitchen island. Rhonda looked testily down at the time stamp on her phone screen: 5:15 PM. Her guests were due to arrive by eight, and she hadn't even gotten to doing her makeup yet.

"Isn't it hilarious how Lina Dunwoody wears heels even though she's already an ape? Calm down and save that for girls shorter than six feet," Rhonda heard Emily muse loudly from the living room. The comment was followed by trills of slightly tipsy giggles. The three girls had arrived an hour earlier to help set up, but all they had done so far was sit on the couch pre-gaming with Rhonda's mother's bottles of Portuguese wine.

Rhonda was growing increasingly anxious, especially in light of the fact that Nadine had been totally ignoring her all day. Whipping out a shot of Blanton's from under the sink and throwing it back, she began furiously texting her friend for about the sixteenth time.

Rhonda: **what gives?? Are yu on your way?**

She shuddered with the sour taste the gold liquid left in her mouth. Finally - _finally_ \- it was the ellipsis that appeared. Nadine was typing.

Nadine: **no lol**

Rhonda: **Hurry up. i need you here NOW**.

Nadine: **i'm watching tv**

Rhonda: **that's not an option Nadine**.

Nadine: **Lmfao. Not an option? sorry u feel that way cuz im not planning on coming at all**

Rhonda: **what. are. you. Talking about**

Nadine: **I NEVER said I was coming tonight.**

Rhonda: **you have to!**

Nadine: **uh no… i don't and im not**

For a moment, Rhonda just stared wide-eyed at her screen. The shriek she emitted from the back of her throat was gargled, filled with naked fury. She sank to the kitchen floor, sifting through her contacts list. If the girls in the living room could hear any of the signs of her impending meltdown, they gave no indication of it.

"Lorenzo!" she screamed into the receiver. "I need you!"

"What?" came Lorenzo's harried, puzzled voice from the other end. "Rhonda, what's wrong?"

"Nadine ditched me and I'm going to die! Simply _die_! I need you to come over!"

"Ditched you? Why would she do that? Take a deep breath, please. I truly don't think you're going to die."

"You have to come over and you have to stay for the party tonight."

"Oh, no, Rhonda, I can't. I'm really not often in enjoyment of large parties, and you know how my mother feels about alcoholic beverages. Besides, I have to study for — "

"It's New Year's Eve and you're on winter break."

"Yes, but you see, the Monday we return will be -"

"Lorenzo, _please_ ," she pouted. "When do I ever ask you for anything?"

"Quite frequently. As a matter of fact - "

"I will _not_ be stood up by my two closest confidantes on the night of Hillwood's most important party of the year." She stamped her foot on the tiles. "You're coming and that's FINAL!"

Rhonda paced back and forth for the entire ten minutes it took for Lorenzo to text her announcing he was waiting in the foyer. She went to retrieve him with her heart pounding in her throat, flouncing haughtily past the girls and flinging open the door.

He looked... quite nice, she thought, sizing him up to try to determine how her guests would perceive him. Dressed in his collared Ralph Lauren shirt and pressed khaki pants, his hair neatly combed and gelled, he almost might have passed for handsome. He was, however, holding a book in one hand.

"Oh, _Lord_ ," Rhonda sighed, rolling her eyes up to the ceiling. "Don't bring that textbook inside where the girls will see it. You're not seriously thinking you'll be able to read that tonight, are you?"

"It's not for school," he explained, holding the book up so she could see its cover: _103 Exercises for_ _Anxiety Relief_. "I brought this in an effort to promote meditative reflection. To help you calm down. I'll show you some of these techniques again, like we practiced over the summer. I think they'll make you feel better."

"Sure, Lorenzo, sure." Rhonda grabbed him by the elbow, leading him back through to the living room. Hoping to sneak him right into the kitchen, she felt her insides shrivel up with embarrassment when Lorenzo paused directly in front of the couch.

"Hello. I don't believe we've met before. I'm Lorenzo."

Like some sort of forty-year-old business executive, he actually held out his free hand for Emily to shake. All three girls stared up at him as though they were looking at a creature with three heads.

"Well, it's nice to meet you," Lorenzo said, withdrawing his outstretched hand abruptly and suddenly looking very embarrassed.

"Quickly, Lorenzo, quickly. We have to start putting the wreaths around the ice sculptures." Rhonda pushed him through to the kitchen. "You shouldn't have said it like that," she added to him in a hiss.

"How should I have said it?" he hissed back.

"Like a normal person. Like _hi_ , _what's up, I'm_ _Lorenzo_. Or _maybe_ , you could have just walked past them. Now," she said, flinging open the two-door freezer, where the swans were lying in wait. "Let's get to work."

An hour later, each of the decorations - balloons, sculptures, garlands and all - had at last been completely arranged. Rhonda tugged Lorenzo up to her bedroom, forcing him to stand by while she applied her eyeliner, the way she always did with Nadine.

"Take my phone," she demanded as she set to work. "Text Lila. Tell her to come over here early so she can try on the dress I bought her."

Lorenzo did as he was instructed, sinking cross-legged onto her bed while Rhonda pushed the lights on her makeup mirror.

"She says she had no idea you bought her a dress," he announced as Rhonda's phone vibrated. "She says she's ever so certain you shouldn't have."

Rhonda sighed dramatically and dipped her mascara wand into its magenta tube. "Of _course_ I should have. Poor sweet little thing. She should have just asked me to buy her a dress to begin with, but she's too proud."

"Rhonda says of course she should have," Lorenzo typed back on the keypad. "You're too proud-"

"No, no, no. Just tell her it's green and it's velvet, and Arnold's going to go just wild when he sees her in it. And then you can go downstairs and take a bottle of wine from those girls, please. I'm going to need all the courage I can get tonight."

* * *

As Arnold stepped into the bustling Lloyd residence later that night, his mind felt three hundred miles from the scene in front of him. The front lawn was decorated with sparkling décor, and the house itself was throbbing with teenagers by ten o'clock. The whole place emanated a buzzed, overly vibrant energy that was off-putting to him as he made his way inside. He found himself wishing he'd just stayed home, in the safety of his room, where the open skylight and the quiet would have at least allowed him the space to keep thinking.

He didn't have time to wonder for long where to go. Led by the dim lighting of the crystal chandelier on the ceiling, his eyes landed on the girl he couldn't get off of his mind almost immediately.

She was standing directly under the light and right beside by the refreshments table with Curly, her eyes cast down towards the floor while the erratic dark-haired boy shoveled handfuls of pretzels in his mouth. In an act of defiance, seemingly, Helga had opted to wear jeans and a sweater rather than the fancy attire Rhonda had required. Arnold figured she might have been turned away at the door had the hostess's judgement not been tempered by the alcohol she'd consumed.

"Helga," Arnold blurted out. His voice felt swallowed up; tiny amidst all the noise. But Helga looked up immediately. She blinked at him for several seconds, humid eyes growing wide as she looked back at him. It was the first time he'd spoken a word to her in weeks.

At that very second, however, he was distracted by a soft tapping on his shoulder blade. Arnold whirled around to find himself face-to-face with a stunning auburn-haired girl, whose crushed velvet dress made the green in her eyes glitter enticingly.

"Arnold," Lila said. "Hi. Do you have a few minutes?"

"Hi, Lila... sure, I do."

"Let's go outside," she said, taking his hand and leading him through the crowd. "The patio will be the best place to discuss _everything_ we need to."

X

"Rhonda, I'm beginning to get a bit concerned," Lorenzo mumbled. His voice sounded like it was coming from somewhere high up and far away. Rhonda turned towards him, barely aware of the shapes of all the people dancing and kissing and swarming her kitchen out of the corner of her eye.

"Concerned? Don't be concerned! Silly Lorenzo!" She emitted a high-pitched laugh.

"I think you've had enough to drink."

"But we haven't even had the dance!"

"The what?"

"The dance!" She grabbed his shoulders, tugging him close to her, and began wheeling him around in slow circles.

"I... um," Lorenzo muttered.

"Where is _Samuel_!" Rhonda whined, stamping her foot on the floor. "I haven't even seen him all night."

"Well... I... uh..." Lorenzo tugged out of her grasp. If she were thinking more clearly, she might have noticed the concern etched onto his face.

"My Princess!" came a high-pitched voice behind her suddenly. It sounded frantic, almost like a scream. "Don't be upset, my darling! I know how badly you must feel about this, but I assure you this is merely a minor setback in the grand scheme of our love. Your knight in shining armor awaits."

Rhonda flipped around in time for Curly Gammelthorpe to come literally crashing down on top of her, smelling heavily of beer and corn chips. He breathed his salty breath into her face for what felt like an eternity, holding the collar of her dress in a vice-like grip.

"This was meant to be, my sweet." He leaned down and pressed his mouth against Rhonda's while her vision blurred in and out.

* * *

"It's ever so cold out here, isn't it?" Lila shivered in the curling wind.

"Oh - I wish I hadn't left my jacket in the coat closet up front," Arnold started awkwardly. "I'd give it to you. Maybe I should-"

"No, no, please don't bother." She took a seat in a wicker chair, motioning for him to sit down beside her. The icy air was so much quieter than the scene inside that Arnold could suddenly hear himself breathing.

"It's sort of nicer out here, actually," he mumbled, although he was shivering, too. "Away from all the noise."

"Arnold, I have to talk to you about something important."

"Oh… of course. What's that?"

"Us," she said blatantly. "We've been beating around the bush for a long time now. Not exactly this - not exactly that."

He felt his heart beginning to hammer uncomfortably in his chest. He had been afraid of having this conversation with Lila.

"I suppose," she went on, looking down at the half-empty martini glass in her hand. "If I'm being really honest with myself, I sort of… well, I like it when boys like me, even if I don't… like them back."

"I can understand that," he told her, truthfully. "It's gratifying to be liked. And definitely beats feeling the opposite way," he added. "You know… liking someone who doesn't like you back."

"Yes. But you're not just someone, you're my friend. And really, I…"

"Yeah?"

"Well." Lila looked down at her hands. "Arnold, if I had to concoct a recipe for the most perfect friend out of thin air… he would look like you. Caring, kind. Smart, honest, and humble."

"I don't know that I'm all of those things. At least not all the time. Thanks, though, Lila."

"But you are." She leaned forward and squeezed his hand. "And I've always been just ever so lucky to have a friend like that."

"I've been lucky to have a friend like you, too, Lila."

"I want to keep it that way. A friendship. Not anything else. Is that okay?" She looked hard at him, her irises swelling with worry.

He smiled, the relief flooding him like a shot of something warm and soothing.

"Lila, it's more than okay."

The chair scraped against the patio floor as Lila stood up, her hands held out at her sides. She smiled back at him before she bent over and cupped her face with her fingertips, kissing him on the cheek as the music inside started to palpitate out of the windows.

* * *

"Curly... get... _off_ of me!" Rhonda screamed.

The boy on top of her quickly leapt aside, his eyes round as he took in her livid glare.

"How _dare_ you!"

"I'm sorry, sweet pea, I'm so sorry! I just - "

"Oh, save it," she barked. "Lorenzo, let's go. We need to go find Samuel."

But Lorenzo was standing frozen in place, his eyes darting back and forth between the crazed kisser and Rhonda.

"Rhonda, I don't know if it's such a good idea," he said timidly. "Samuel, he seems - he seems very - tied up - "

"Fine," Rhonda snapped. "If neither of you clowns will assist me in finding the boy of my dreams, then I'll simply have to find him myself. Excuse me for a minute, will you?"

She shoved her way out of the kitchen and into the living room, where her guests were making out and grinding in rhythm to the rap song blasting over the stereo system. Rhonda rolled her eyes. _Juvenile_ , how simply juvenile.

"Are you looking for your man, Rhonda?" Emily smirked at her suddenly. Rhonda felt her blood turn cold, even while the world around her was still spinning. "He's right over there."

Rhonda folllowed her gaze to the corner of the room. There was her handsome boy, looking happy as could be with his hands wrapped around Connie's waist, lips moving against hers like some sort of rapid, overeager snake.

"I..." Rhonda grumbled as she stared. The world continued spinning. She felt a warm weight on her shoulder and her gaze darted towards Lorenzo.

She leaned over, mind darkening as she vomited all over the state-of-the-art pinewood floor.


	17. Cut the Strings

17: Cut the Strings, Might Belong, Watch Me Fly

Rhonda moaned as she held a hand to her forehead, squinting at the bright light that splintered in through her bedroom window. The entire room felt heady, the air too thick, as if the very act of breathing it in was making her sick. Without really thinking about it, she reached for her phone and scrolled through the contacts list.

Rhonda: **i miss you** **momma. why wont you take me** **with you to the islands next time. i'm so lonely**

She gave a slight grunt as she tossed her covers back and tried to stand up. She wasn't wearing her dress anymore, but a pair of silk pajamas she couldn't remember changing into. Her stomach tingled vaguely with alarm, but with a headache so horrible, she couldn't afford to feel much more than her current state of physical pain.

As she ambled out of her bedroom and down the long hallway, Rhonda heard a crashing sound come from the kitchen. Her heartbeat quickened in her chest. It suddenly occurred to her that there were likely party guests leftover from the night before, strolling throughout the Lloyd residence, still drunk. She had no idea what state the house would be in at all.

Making her way through the living room, however, Rhonda was struck not by any signs of torn furniture or trashed Persian carpets, but by a bizarrely clean, well-kempt abode. She peered into the guest room and foyer only to see more of the same: floors that appeared as though they had been freshly vacuumed; coffee tables shining; vases polished. Even the table that had housed the alcohol selection was now mysteriously devoid of all evidence.

Only one partygoer remained in the kitchen, cradling the cast iron skillet he'd dropped before retrieving a sponge from the sink.

"Lorenzo?" Rhonda pressed her palm to her forehead as her headache seared.

Lorenzo whirled around, blinking briskly. "Oh – hi, Rhonda. You're awake."

"What are you doing here? And why are you up at this unsightly hour?"

"It's twelve-thirty P.M."

"…Oh."

"Would you like some coffee?" Lorenzo motioned towards the French coffee press on the countertop, which was filled to the brim with the rich dark liquid.

"Yes, please."

"I made some waffles too. I thought you should probably have something to eat. I hope your parents won't mind."

"Why on earth would they mind? They're not _here_."

"Yes, but I hope they won't mind that I used the ingredients."

Rhonda collapsed at the kitchen table, clutching her mug of coffee to her chest. The smell of it was adding to her mounting nausea, but the thought of the caffeine in her system was too enticing to turn down.

"Get me some cream and sugar," she demanded.

"Of course. Take this too," he added, sliding a glass bottle of Emetrol across the table. "It might make you feel better."

"Lorenzo, what happened?"

"You became a little ill. You might have had a bit too much to drink."

"I know that. I meant what happened in _here_? My house? It's all clean… and what, you're a sixteen-year-old live-in chef now?"

"Oh, well, you see, I didn't want to leave you alone here last night. So I ended up sleeping in your living room. And then when I woke up, I… um… well… you wouldn't have been wanting to clean up any physical aftermath today, would you?"

"I don't _clean_. You do know that I have a maid, don't you?"

"Of course I do. Rosa. She's the same lady my family uses. But I know for a fact her schedule is booked with other clients until Sunday, and your parents will be home before that."

Rhonda was quiet as she watched Lorenzo load her plate with waffles.

"May I offer you some syrup with these?"

"You are so weird. Like, the weirdest person I've ever been friends with. And yes, drench them," she mumbled, burying her face in her arms.

"Maybe we could go to Wee Burn this afternoon to take your mind off things. Drink some diet Cokes. Swim in the indoor pool?"

Rhonda lifted her head up and jammed her fork into the sugary breakfast in front of her. "I'd love to, Lorenzo. But it will have to be next weekend. I need to take care of something important today."

* * *

Helga had been in the locker room shower for almost an hour straight, and the hot water had miraculously taken until now to run out. At last, she spun back the handle and slid open the curtain, reaching blindly for the towel hanging on the hook in the wall. The steam had fogged up every mirror in sight, making it impossible for her to see her reflection. Good. That was how she liked it.

Coach Tish had pulled them all at nine A.M. for their first outdoor practice at the high school. What kind of a freak _did_ that? It was New Year's Day, for criminy's sake – not to mention still freezing out. But she'd insisted they couldn't afford to lose the time, or the field. With two months to go till the start of the season, they were all getting their butts kicked into overdrive.

In truth, though, Helga had grown to sort of appreciate the stability of having the team to focus on. It distracted her from her usual bad mood. Everything else in her life was complete shit, but there was something solidifying, almost wholesome, about knowing she'd be returning to the same group of people every day to run her ass off with.

As she tugged on her sweatshirt and jeans in the humid little square of shower stalls, she heard lockers opening and closing beyond the bathroom door. Who, she wondered vaguely, was as slow-moving as she was today? She'd figured the other girls would be long gone by now.

"Man, I feel like I got run over by a truck," she announced as she wandered back to the bench, her hair dripping water down her back. "Those sprints today were –"

Helga froze in place. A familiar chunky figure was slinking fast between the space dividing two of the parallel locker sets.

"HEY!" she screamed. "Get back here!"

"Who, me? Oh – I mean – OW!" There was a crashing sound as Harold Berman fell pitifully to the floor.

Helga whipped around the bend in time to see Harold squirming left and right on the dirty tiles. He pushed off the floor with both hands and attempted to race off in the opposite direction, but she grabbed him by the back of his shirt before he'd even moved a meter.

"You've gotta be _kidding_ me, you brainless, pathetic CRETIN!"

"Let go of me, Helga! I swear, you better let go or I'll – I'll – I'll — "

"You'll what, Pink Boy?" She clutched at his collar with both hands and pinned him up against the locker.

"I'll – I'll –"

"I'm listening."

"Well – I – uh – "

"Look, I have no idea what the hell is going on here, or why the only place I've managed to find you in weeks is in the girls' freaking locker room. But regardless, you and me are gonna get one thing straight."

"Okay—"

"If you ever. And I mean _ever_ ," she strengthened her grip as Harold continued to writhe horribly in her grasp, "Do anything to hurt Arnold ever again, I'll wrap your tongue around your neck until you choke on your own spit. Do you understand?"

"I—"

"I said _do you understand_?!"

"Yeah," Harold whimpered.

"Good. And now, you're gonna tell me what your deal is, and you're gonna tell me right now."

"I can't," he moaned.

"What do you mean, you can't?"

"I just can't, Helga! But you don't gotta worry about Big Gino messing with Arnold again. Now that Arnold and Lila are done, it's not gonna be an issue."

"Big _Gino_?"

Harold clapped a hand over his mouth. "Oh – uh – I mean—"

"What does that moron have to do with this? What, did the Football Head make a bad drug deal or something?"

"No," Harold groaned. "I did." Helga felt his body grow limp with defeat in her grasp. She let out an incredulous laugh.

"Why would _you_ get involved in a drug deal? I mean criminy. You can barely tie your own shoes. You'd screw up a deal with Big Gino faster than it takes you to chase down an ice cream truck."

"That's not funny, Helga!"

"I didn't mean that it was funny. All I meant was you're an idiot."

Harold moaned again. Helga slammed him up harder against the locker.

"Answer me right now," she demanded. "What does Arnold dating Lila have to do with Big Gino?"

"E-everything! Gino likes Lila! I mean really likes her! He keeps - he's doing all this crazy stuff, and he keeps making me deliver all these dumb little love notes to her!"

Helga froze in place. "So Big Gino's the one who's been sending those things?"

"Let go of me for a second. Just one second, and I'll show you."

"You do understand that if you try to run away, your predicament will only get worse," she snapped.

Harold began to fumble around in his pockets in response, wriggling in place to move his hands while Helga had his body still tightly bound.

"Notes like this," he panted, thrusting the piece of paper in her face. "See, that's why I'm in the girls' locker room. I was just tryna give Lila this note from Gino."

Helga grabbed the crisply-pressed page, her eyes scanning over the words feverishly. " _Lila, o mistress_ _mine, where are you roaming? O, stay and hear, your_ _true love's coming_." She crumpled the page up in a ball and threw it at Harold's forehead. "Man, the guy's really a lot more of a tea cozy than he lets on, huh? And what is it with his obsessive need to plagiarize Shakespeare?"

"Gino loves sonnets."

"I can see that," she said scornfully. "Sonnets and world domination."

"So... where's Lila's gym locker anyway?"

"How the hell should I know? Why didn't you just put it in her regular locker?"

"I tried, but the rest of the school's still all locked up till it opens again on Monday."

"Figures."

"I need help, Helga." Harold's face was now streaked with tears. He broke down completely, wailing as he threw his arms around Helga's neck. She backed away in disgust, her anger still coursing through her. "I just needed the money, okay? I needed the money cause I wanted Patty to have a nice birthday, cause she usually doesn't. I - I was gonna take her out to the movies and a fancy dinner like cheeseburgers. So I bought some stuff from Gino and I was gonna sell it, but then my mom found it and got really, really mad and threw it away. And ever since then I've been Gino's personal slave!"

Helga bit her lip in spite of herself. "And he's been making you do this shit the whole time? Like some kind of creepy puppet government?"

Yeah," Harold wept. "Giving Lila letters, wrecking her dates, destroying Arnold's bike. You gotta help me, Helga, you just gotta."

She scowled as she finally released him. "I'm not helping you with anything."

"What should I do?"

"Heck if I know. You got yourself into this mess and you're gonna have to get out of it."

"I can't!

"Well, how long are you gonna be at the Godfather's mercy, anyway?"

"I dunno! Till Lila likes Gino," Harold groaned.

"And on what planet is _that_ gonna happen?"

Harold wiped his face with the back of his hand. "I dunno. I don't know how there's even a chance till Lila knows who's been sending her this stuff."

"All I know," Helga raised her eyebrow as she began storming away from him and back towards her own gym locker. "Is you _better_ make sure Arnold doesn't end up in the middle of this again." She crammed her belongings into her backpack. "And one more thing. Don't let that asshole hurt Lila either, alright? She's too nice to have to keep putting up with bullshit like that."

* * *

Rhonda shivered, curling her fingers up in the pockets of her pea coat as she walked down the sidewalk.

When she reached the front stoop of the pale blue building, she stared into the windows, trying to discern human shapes through the curtains. She was pretty sure she was at the right house. Given that she'd never been inside of it, however, she couldn't be one hundred percent positive.

Drawing in a sharp breath of frigid air, she climbed up the steps and rang the doorbell. Muffled shouting and clambering went on inside for a few moments before the front door swung open.

The infamous owner of Big Bob's Emporium was as gigantic in person as he looked in the logos plastered to city buses. Rhonda wasn't a frequent shopper at average _warehouses_ , of course, but she still recognized the father of her classmate since preschool.

"Hello," she began awkwardly. "Mr. Pataki. I, um... it's great to see you."

Mr. Pataki raised his large, unbecoming eyebrow.

"You might be wondering why I'm here, at your house," she rambled on. "I go to school with Helga. I was just coming to see if your daughter's friend Curly happened to be staying here. I went by his house and his father said he probably was."

"What?"

"Curly."

"Oh, so that's what the Girl Scouts are selling these days? Hold on a sec. MIRIAM!"

"What, B?" came a tired-sounding voice.

"WE NEED ANY CURLY FRIES?"

"No, Mr. Pataki, I'm not- "

"Curly fries? No, B, I just got a bag of frozen waffle fries. It's… it's... it's around here somewhere."

"Sorry kid, looks like we're all stacked up in the potato department," Mr. Pataki said, turning back to Rhonda. "Maybe next year. But here's a donation." He reached into his pocket, pushed a handful of quarters towards the teenager, and started to close the door.

"Well, I never," Rhonda bristled. She let the coins drop to the ground. "I'm not _selling_ anything. I'm looking for Helga's friend, Curly Gammelthorpe. He's staying here at your house. Have you seen him? He's kind of short? Kind of psycho?"

"Wish I could help ya, but he's not here. Let me tell you, if my daughter was trying to sneak some psycho kid into this household, Big Bob Pataki would know about it."

He slammed the door shut. Rhonda sighed irritably.

Just as she was turning to walk away, a pair of eyes and a mop of dark hair flashed in the second-story window. Rhonda stared up for several seconds. The window pane opened. Before she could process what was happening, Curly was leaning through the small space and leaping out of it.

He landed on his feet and then fell forward, groaning as he rolled for a few meters down the sidewalk.

"Oh my _god_!" Rhonda screamed.

"I'm fine," Curly said as he stood up, rubbing his back. "Now that you're here."

"Just use the stairs next time!"

"I heard your melodic voice and thought I was dreaming," he continued, ignoring her. "How are you feeling, Rhonda?"

"I'm fine. Is Helga even here?"

"No, she went to lacrosse practice. I wish I'd been able to stay last night and make sure you were okay, but Lorenzo said - "

"I'm glad you didn't," Rhonda cut him off.

"Oh… well… I - "

"Curly, do you even remember what happened last night?"

He nodded. "We all drank a lot. You got sick."

"Do you remember jumping on top of me and _kissing_ me?"

"I - yeah, I - "

"And do you remember me saying that I _wanted_ you to jump on top of me and kiss me?"

Curly's shoulders sagged. "No, I don't."

"Exactly," she snapped.

"I - it's just - Rhonda, I love you so much. So, so much."

"Yeah, I get that! Why I don't get is _why_!"

" _Why_?" He blinked. "What an inane question. You're smart and bold and kind. You're beautiful, Rhonda Lloyd. You're my everything. You always have been."

"What I meant," Rhonda said, her voice growing slightly softer. "Is why do you _still_ love me, even after I've told you at least a hundred times not to?"

She sat down on the Patakis' stoop, sighing. Curly crouched down beside her. He fidgeted with his hands, looking down at the cracked cement. It occurred to her that he must have been freezing, wearing only a T-shirt and shorts. She unraveled the scarf from around her neck and offered it out to him.

"Thanks," Curly told her quietly. Rather than put it on, he buried his face in the woolen material. She felt her discomfort growing, but something rooted her to the spot.

At last, he lifted his head up, looking out towards the street. "You can't just tell someone to stop loving another person."

"I guess not. You and I both know how it feels to have our hearts broken now. Here I was thinking Samuel actually liked me," she said bitterly. "I didn't think he'd go and - I mean, I really thought what we had was something special."

" _I_ appreciate you. Every little thing about you. _We_ could have something special. I wish you could see that," Curly mumbled, turning to face her. Rhonda had never noticed how much pain filled his eyes. She swallowed, unsure of what to say.

Curly hastily turned away again. "You know, when I heard you outside, I got so excited. I actually thought you were coming to see me to tell me you were finished with Samuel, and that you were starting to like me or something. Can you believe that? How stupid can one guy be?"

She began kneading her knuckles together. "You're not stupid, Curly. I _was_ coming to see you. Because I think you're an okay person, most of the time... when you're not guiltripping me or begging me for my love or blindly invading my personal space."

He hung his head. "I'm really sorry."

"I am, too. But I think I can forgive you. If you can forgive me."

"Always."

"You're a good guy, Curly. You deserve to be with a girl who will like you as much as you like her. But that girl isn't me. It's never _going_ to be me. If you really care about me, then you'll accept that."

Curly drew in a deep, shuddering breath of air.

"You're right," he choked out.

He held out her scarf for her to take back.

"Keep that," she told him. "Since you're probably going to have to wait outside now until Helga comes home."

"Oh. R-right. Thank you."

"Anyway... I... um... I'd better get home. I have... a lot of homework to do before Monday."

"Oh. Okay." Curly managed a tiny, lopsided smile, but it looked fraud even to her.

"I'll... uh... okay then. I'll see you in school, Curly."

"R-right, yeah. See ya then."

She stood up, chewing guiltily on her lip as she made her way down the steps. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Curly hiding his face in the scarf again, his body convulsing with sobs.


	18. I’m Treating Me Right

18: I'm Treating Me Right

Almost two weeks went by, and Curly's depression didn't wane.

Helga was starting to get seriously worried. The twisted little freak had always had turbulent mood swings, but things seemed to be taking a turn for the worse now, after the finality of Rhonda's rejection. To make matters even more dire, his father had suddenly seemingly disappeared off the face of the planet. Curly insisted that having his own space was better than living with a drunken abuser, but Helga – terrified of what her friend might attempt in his current state – was not about to just set him loose at his own house, all by himself. She rushed home every single night from practice to make sure Curly was still in her room, and when she found him, he was usually already curled up in his sleeping bag, watching sad movies on her laptop. Desperate to put a lid on his sadness, Helga tried everything. She went out and bought all his favorite snacks. She tried to force-feed him Ramen when he refused to eat. She even offered to do his homework for him. But nothing seemed to be working to improve his spirits.

By Friday morning in mid-January, Helga finally made the executive decision to take more drastic action. Curly was already watching the Titanic on Netflix when she woke up. She rolled over in her bed to glance down at him.

"How ya feelin, bud?"

"I'll never let go, Jack," Curly responded. Tears began welling up in his eyes. "I'll never let go."

Helga leaned down and slammed the laptop shut.

"Hey!"

"Curly, you have to put this thing away. You're gonna turn into a human pudding cup."

"That sounds delicious. I love pudding."

"I'm serious. You're gonna get all slimy and jiggly and stuff. And soon you won't be able to walk."

"It's too early for this pep talk, Helga. And besides, it's not inspiring."

She tossed her covers aside and threw her legs over the edge of the bed.

"I can't stop thinking about her." Curly began to scratch compulsively at his elbow.

"I know."

"How do you make yourself stop thinking about Arnold?"

"I don't," she admitted. "I kinda... think about him and think about him and think about him. I just stopped crying about it so much, that's all."

She crossed her arms over her chest. She felt sure Arnold had wanted to say something to her on New Year's Eve, but he'd never gotten the chance. They'd quickly reverted to ignoring each other at school again, Arnold hurrying past her with his face contorted awkwardly when the two of them were in the same vicinity as one other.

Curly reached out and poked her kneecap. "You're doing a real good job. Getting rid of all your shrines and locket and everything."

"I only got rid of the shrines. The locket and journals are still here. I hid em under the floorboard. It's just, at a certain point, I think you have to think beyond the... obsessiveness. It's the less selfish thing to do. I mean that for both of us, not just you. This isn't the end of the world, Curly."

"Well it feels like it," he said quietly.

"Yeah. I understand. Seriously, I do."

He was raveling and unraveling a loose thread at the edge of his pillowcase over and over with his finger. She wrenched the thread from his grasp and ripped it completely from the fabric.

"I decided we're gonna skip school today, you and me," she announced.

"I don't wanna."

"That's too bad, because you have to."

"You can't just boss me around like that."

"I can and I will, bucko, and we're gonna spend the whole day _and_ the whole night having the time of our lives."

"But tonight was supposed to be your special Friday night with Phoebe," he reminded her.

Helga prodded him with her foot. "I told her this was an emergency - you're in a state of need. She understands."

"Really?"

"Doi - Helga Pataki picks her friends carefully. Pheebs gets me, okay? And maybe she doesn't get you, but she will. At some point."

Curly gazed up at her carefully. If not for his morose mood, she would have thought that the tiny quirk in his mouth looked almost like a smile.

"You know, Helga - you're a lot more perfect than you pretend to be," he said at last. "It's my favorite thing about you. You know what I mean?"

Helga rolled her eyes. "No, Curly. I don't. As usual. Now get your butt out of bed and get dressed."

* * *

 _Try to talk to her again. No, don't do it. Talk to her. Don't talk t_ o _her... No, actually, you should probably talk to her._

Arnold hadn't even seen Helga in school yet today, and still, she continued to manage to drive him insane. He hadn't been able to make up his mind about what to do, and the indecision was totally unsettling. He knew he didn't want Helga to hurt. He wanted to believe that she was innocent, as much as Gerald and Phoebe did.

But he wasn't sure what to say, because he still didn't know if he _could_ believe in her innocence. He'd seen the evidence firsthand; he couldn't see how or why anyone but her would be at fault for attempting to hurt him. Every time he came close to approaching Helga again, that thought and all of its accompanying pain and anger came surging back. Why was he always the one apologizing? Why was he always the one left in charge of putting the pieces back together in the wake of her acts of destruction? Why had he always been expected to just figure her out, decode all her mixed signals, put up with her abuse and volatility and –

"What do you think, Shortman?"

"What?" Arnold blinked. His focus snapped back to the classroom. Mr. Turner had his beady eyes set straight on him.

"Do you have any thoughts on the discussion at hand? Or do you plan to daydream your way through the midterm?"

Arnold felt himself crumple up with embarrassment. "No," he mumbled. "I don't –"

But as he was trying to muster up something else to say, an unexpected force came to his rescue in the form of Stinky Peterson, who raised his hand.

"Reckon I got somethin ta say about The Scarlet Letter, Mr. Turner. In tha first place, if Hester hadn't a been who she was, it woulda been just dandy for her to have her some fun outta wedlock. But they all punished her, on account a her bein' a woman and all. It ain't far from bein' apparent that women was to follow rules in that town that didn't apply ta the menfolk."

Mr. Turner glared unblinkingly. "Mr. Peterson. While you are in this class, you will use proper English."

"Oh," Stinky replied. "Sorry." Arnold could see the backs of his ears turning red and instantly felt badly for him.

"That's rude," came a small voice next to him. "Just ever so rude."

The class turned to look at Lila with interest. She'd long been Mr. Turner's favorite student. They had never heard her challenge him, or any teacher, for that matter.

"Excuse me, Miss Sawyer?"

"You always ask us for well-reasoned perspectives, and Stinky gave you his," Lila continued in a slightly stronger voice. "You should be listening to the content of his opinion, not his accent."

"This is an English literature class. The content of an opinion can't be deciphered if it is stated sloppily, indiscernibly, and simplemindedly."

"Well, I'm certain that I can decipher it. Stinky thinks sexism is an important theme in the book, and I don't think that's a simpleminded thought at all. I think it's profound, just ever so profound."

"Garsh," Stinky muttered, gazing at Lila with amazement. His whole face was glowing red now.

"Okay, Miss Sawyer," Mr. Turner said coolly. "You have made your voice heard."

"I reckon I wouldn't a been able to understand tha book at all if it hadn't a been for Miss Lila," Stinky piped up. "She's been helpin me, on account a she's got all the writin skills and appreciation for fine literature."

"You know, I must say that I agree with these two," Rhonda opined. "Boys should be punished for fathering children out of wedlock, too, but _no_. It's all ' _I'm entitled to this_ ' and ' _I'm entitled to that'_ with men, and meanwhile poor, sweet Hester can't catch a single break."

"Isn't she the one who committed the crime, though?" Iggy said skeptically.

"Mr. Turner?" Arnold asked, raising his hand. "Can I use the restroom?"

While the class continued on with their analyses of the previous night's reading, Arnold slipped out to go to the bathroom. He moseyed down the hallway, his mind beginning to wander again in the peace of the hallway.

It was so quiet between class periods - you could practically hear a pin drop. The difference between the current silence and the usual mad rush between bells was striking. If it hadn't been for that resounding silence, he wouldn't have been able to hear the familiar heavy shuffle before he rounded the corner towards the boys' bathroom.

Arnold glanced up quickly. A blue-hooded figure was standing there, alone, peering into the grates of a locker.

"Harold?" Arnold questioned him. Harold jumped. He was fumbling with some sort of piece of paper.

"Oh, uh, hey Arnold."

"Hey... wait a second." Arnold narrowed his eyes. "That's not your locker."

"It's not?"

"No. It's Lila's!"

"Oh, it is? Heh, heh... what do you know, it is. Whoops. Well, guess I'll -"

"Wait one second, Harold. Don't tell me you're actually still doing this."

"Doing... doing what?" Harold squeaked.

"You are, aren't you? When are you going to give it up already? You know, there are other, less destructive ways of earning money!"

"Yeah, you got me there. Ha. Well, I guess I'll just be on my way."

"What are you doing this time, and who put you up to it? Come on Harold - you're better than this. Please just be truthful with me. Is... is Helga the one who... ?" He trailed off, unable to complete the sentence.

"Helga?" The folded-up paper slipped promptly out of Harold's hand and onto the floor. Arnold suddenly felt like he might throw up.

"Just give me a yes or no. That's all I need. Is it her?"

"I... uh... uh..." Harold's eyes were darting back and forth. He glanced at the fallen paper on the ground and, in one swift movement, lunged forward to pick it up. But Arnold got there first.

"If you won't tell me, then I'll find out myself." He folded open the loose-leaf - which was overflowing with ink that ran all the way down the page and curled into the margins - and began to read. _Dear_ _Lila: my_ _love is as a fever, longing still..._

Arnold looked up, blinking. He suddenly felt like he had intruded on something extremely personal. "Is this yours?"

"What? No! What a dumb question." The end of Harold's sentence was muffled by the sound of the bell ringing, signaling the end of the class period. All around them, chatter began to fill the quiet as students came trickling out into the hall.

"Whose poem is it?" Arnold asked.

"Shakespeare's, stupid! Give that back to me, Arnold, I gotta go."

"So you're giving this Shakespeare poem to Lila?"

"What? N-no, of course not!"

"But you were putting it in her locker."

"No I wasn't! You got it all wrong, okay? Now lemme have that before -"

"Arnold?" a flowery voice rang out behind him. Arnold and Harold turned around to find themselves face-to-face with Lila, Rhonda, and Stinky.

Harold screamed. Lila's eyes widened as she glanced at the piece of paper in Arnold's hand, then back up at him, then back down at the paper. Her cheeks were turning slightly pink.

"Is that... um..." she trailed off, mouthing wordlessly.

"This? Oh, it's not-"

"Arnold, I thought... I thought we agreed we were just... so... so these _have_ been coming from you? All along?" Lila asked gently.

"I knew it!" Rhonda exclaimed with excitement.

"What? What do you mean? Oh, you thought - this note - no, this isn't mine."

"Oh. Whose is it, then?" Lila turned her attention to Harold, who stared back at her with an expression like a deer in the headlights.

"Well, it's not mine, that's for sure! Nope, didn't come from me! No way! By the way, could I have that back now?" Harold added to Arnold.

Lila and Rhonda gaped at him.

"Harold?" Lila questioned slowly. " _You_?"

"No!" Harold spluttered. He mouthed soundlessly at all of them for a few seconds before reaching out and wrestling the love note out of Arnold's grasp.

As if having appeared out of thin air, two muscular men – they looked like they were at least nineteen or twenty years old, Arnold thought – came over from the other side of the hallway and clamped down on each of Harold's arms.

"There a problem here?" one of them said roughly.

Harold let out a dry shriek and began to wriggle wildly in their grasp. They were attracting the attention of everyone else in the hallway now, as kids began to gather around them in clusters, eagerly watching the chaotic scene.

"There's no problem, there's no problem!" Harold protested. "Let me go!"

"Let him go!" Lila repeated, horrified.

"You heard the woman. She said let 'im go."

The voice that boomed out among the crowd was familiar-sounding, and very daunting. Several students screamed as the shorter-than-expected figure emerged from behind two freshman girls, who were clutching at each other's elbows.

Arnold gazed on in utter bewilderment as Big Gino marched up to Harold and snapped his fingers. The two men at Harold's sides dropped his arms instantly.

"Harold Berman," Gino thundered. "You have done nothin but proved yous a failya. Ova and ova I request yuh help. Time and time again you shows only idiocy."

Harold was physically shaking, apparently too terrified to respond.

"Now, it's time for Gino to take mattas into his own hands."

"Really, sir?" Harold yelped. "Are you sure?"

"What kinds of matters?" Lila asked apprehensively.

"Mattas of the heart."

"Yeah, yeah, matters of the heart," Harold repeated nervously.

"Harold, you _cannot_ be the author of these love letters," Rhonda commented in disgust. "You just can't be. I mean, as if. Lila Sawyer and Harold _Berman_?"

"Of course I'm not! I didn't write any dumb letters to dumb little Lila!"

"How dare you, ya big sneakin' imp!" Stinky shouted. "Miss Lila ain't dumb, she's a whoppin' millennium smarter than you!"

"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean it like that," Harold said earnestly. "I'm not the one who wrote these letters cause my heart's already taken! Because I like _Patty_ okay? That's right, I like her and I wouldn't've gotten involved in this whole thing if it wasn't for her! I just wanted her to have a nice birthday and – and then I couldn't pay Big Gino back and I had to destroy Arnold's bike and his dates and I think it was a mean thing, a real, real mean thing, seeing as all Arnold's ever done is be the nicest guy in the whole city!"

Arnold felt his confusion morphing into an increasingly awful feeling in his gut as Lila turned towards Harold, twirling the end of her braid tensely. "I'm… I'm ever so sorry… but I don't understand."

"Let me help you to undastand." Gino fell to his knees. "Lila Sawya, I have climbed every mountain and I have fought tooth and nail for you. I have written you each a these poems with my whole heart. If yous has any doubt in yuh mind about who I am, just rememba the beauty of my words, and the steps I have taken to protect yuh hona."

"My honor?" Lila repeated, horrified.

"That's right, yuh hona. You neva would have been happy with this kid with the oddly-shaped head," Gino stood up and gestured towards Arnold. "So I took it upon myself to protect yous. The destruction of the bike, the spillin' of liquids, the breakin' of the lobsta tank. All the brilliant, remarkable work of the man who truly loves you."

"I, erm, I didn't exactly get to breaking the lobster tank, Gino, sir," Harold stammered. "But the other stuff all happened, it sure did."

"Gino, sir, with all due respect," Lila said slowly. "You don't know me."

"Don't know you? _Don't know you?_ I knows every little thing about you! I know yuh laughter is the sweetest wind chime and I know yuh beauty is unmatched. I know the sweet smell of yuh perfume."

"Well, you don't know _me,_ as a person. If you did, I'm ever so certain you would understand that hurting my friend is the last thing in the world I would want you to do."

"I know yous make me want to be good, Lila Sawya." He stood up, leaned forward, and planted a kiss on her hand.

Lila pulled away from him. "It doesn't seem like you're very good at wanting to be good, then."

Gino froze. "What did you say to me?"

"I will never like you, Gino. Ever. No matter how lovely your poetry is."

There was a collective gasp from the crowd. Gino squeezed his hands into fists.

" _This_ is the disrespect the woman I put my heart on the line for shows to me? You didn't even give me a chance! Yous is _obligated_ to give me a chance!"

"No. I'm sick of doing anything that doesn't come from my own heart. And this time, I'm more than certain I'm not obligated to do anything." Lila turned around and began to walk away, her braid bouncing, cowgirl boots clipping.

"Yeah!" Stinky screamed. "She ain't obligated to do anythin', yuh right crazy hunk a bad meat!"

Gino's assistants looked in Lila's direction and then at their boss. It was as if they were asking with their eyes whether they should go after her and wrench her forcibly back to the scene. But Gino, his fists still clenched at his sides, didn't give them any orders at all. He marched forward, grabbed the love note out of Harold's hand, and then ran away.

Arnold's head suddenly ached even worse than before. His mind was spinning so fast, it took him a few seconds to notice that his phone was vibrating in the pocket of his jeans. He extracted it carefully and frowned at the name on the screen. Why would his mother be calling him in the middle of a school day?

"Mom? Hello? Hold on for a second. I can barely hear you. Just give me a minute to go outside."

* * *

It was the oddest thing, but as Eugene collected his books for his chemistry class, he heard what sounded like a long, drawn-out wail come from down the hallway. Seconds later, a rather small young man barreled past, holding his face in his hands and sobbing hysterically.

"Hey," Sheena squeaked. "Wasn't that that mobster boy? Big Gino?"

"Gosh, I don't know. Was it? Why would he be crying?"

In the forlorn boy's wake trailed a crowd of other students, chattering amongst themselves about some sort of fiasco that had apparently just gone down.

"Strange," Sheena said, scratching her head.

"Gonna be fucking amazing tonight, we'll be at my house pregaming first, party at Wolfgang's will be lit..."

"Only hot girls invited, dude, don't worry about that..."

Eugene felt his blood freeze up. He recognized the voices of the members of the Hillwood football team.

"Hide me," he begged Sheena. She blinked at him, obviously puzzled.

But he had no time to worry about her confusion before he saw Wolfgang's hulking figure. The white-blonde athlete was throwing back his head, laughing hard at something Samuel had said. The two of them were so casual: confident, untroubled.

"Are you okay, Eugene?" Sheena asked him in concern. He ignored her, choosing instead to dart up against a locker as the guys shuffled past. He shut his eyes hard, and he didn't open them again until the noise was gone.

* * *

"Watermelon Sour Patch?" Helga suggested. She pointed to the glass display case, where the packets of pink and green candies lay next to the Raisinets. Her arms were already loaded down with two extra-large bags of buttered popcorn and overflowing cups of Pepsi. After spending the day at the zoo, they'd gotten chicken fingers for dinner and then headed straight to the movie theater. Evil Twin XVII had finally come out.

"Come on, Helga," Curly pouted. "You know I prefer traditional."

Helga glared at the boy behind the counter, who looked like he was ready to fall asleep. "Hey! Me and my friend over here need two bags of regular Sour Patch Kids, pronto."

As she thrust the popcorn into Curly's hands and reached into her pocket for money, her cell phone began to ring.

"Don't answer it," Curly whined. "We're gonna miss the trailers."

"Alright, alright. Lemme just see who it is, okay?" She whipped her phone out of her pocket along with the ten-dollar bill, frowning at the name that flashed across the screen.

"It's Phoebe," she said to Curly, shrugging as she held the phone to her ear. "Yeah, what's up?"

"Helga," came Phoebe's slightly timid voice on the other end.

"Yeah, hi."

"I hope you're enjoying your time with Curly."

"Thanks. Listen, we're about to go in to the theater, so if I could -"

"I'm so sorry for interrupting you. I know it's important to you to spend time with your friend right now. I just felt, given the circumstances, you should know..."

"What?"

"Well, I..." Helga heard Phoebe take a deep breath.

"Spit it out, Pheebs. You felt I should know what?"

"Arnold's father had a heart attack this afternoon. They're not sure if he's going to make it."


	19. Our Day Will Come

**Author's Note** : Thank you so much for your reviews (and for reading this story at all). Hope your Monday doesn't suck too much. All the love to you.

* * *

19: Our Day Will Come

How did you become capable of loving someone so much you would die for them, even after so much time?

It was the only thought in Stella's mind as she sat in the plastic chair in the darkened room. She kept the curtain drawn, even though the hospital wing was devoid of other guests by now.

The appropriate anti-clotting medication would be prescribed first thing in the morning, she had been told. He was alive. She had been right there; had done the right things. But Miles tossed and turned, getting lost in time and space while the oxygen tubes pumped diligently.

"I'm worried about Arnold," he mumbled softly. His eyes were closed.

"Why, honey?"

"His evening bottle. He might not drink it. My parents never remember to warm it up for him."

She inched closer to the bed, tracing the dark purple bags under his eyes.

"Don't think we should leave him, Stella. Don't know if it's worth it."

Stella smoothed the sweat-drenched hair on his forehead. "I don't know, either," she said helplessly.

"And the forsythia. It'll bloom without us."

Careful not to shift the positioning of the translucent tubes, she crawled into the hospital bed beside him, still wearing the overalls she'd had on when she was gardening with Gertie, hours earlier. It felt like years ago now.

"I never told you, Stella. But Arnold. We tucked him in, but he fell out of his crib. Won't stop crying. He's afraid we might to forget to come back to him."

"But we won't forget, Miles."

"We won't."

"You can tell him we're already on our way."

"On our way."

"Yes, sweetheart. We are. It's just going to take longer than we thought."

"Okay," he mumbled. She wrapped her arms around him while the medical receptionist outside shut down visiting hours, overlooking the fact that she was still there.

* * *

How did you become capable of loving someone so much you would die for them, even after so much time?

It was the only thought in Helga's mind as she climbed up the fire escape in the freezing rain. It was pitch black - almost one A.M. by the time she actually gathered the guts to leave her bedroom, despite having run out of the movie theater with Curly after getting Phoebe's call. She'd fretted for so many hours now that she had drained herself of the ability to think. No longer did she possess the power to conjure up nightmares or worst-case scenarios. All she could do was climb, her heart thudding dully in her chest, its natural feverish rhythm somehow slowed in the dark and the rushing downpour.

She'd known, all the while she had journeyed to the boarding house, that Arnold would still be awake. So she wasn't surprised, when she inched across the skylight and looked down to see him sitting up on his bed, his knees to his chest.

"My love," Helga muttered. And for a moment, she just sat there, oblivious to the deluge of rain as she watched him. Then, swallowing the rust in her throat, she reached out with one clammy hand and rapped on the window underneath her.

Arnold looked up; it was impossible to make out the expression on his face through the rain-splattered glass. She watched as he moved across the length of his bed and inched his way towards the wall, climbing up to unlatch the window.

If he was surprised to see her, his tired face didn't show it. He reached out his hand and, when she shoved it away, began to crawl back down the wall while she trailed after him.

As his eyes wandered the length of her body, Helga suddenly became aware that she was thoroughly soaked. Her shirt was clinging to her chest, jeans so wet she could barely move her legs without wincing. When she shivered, every inch of skin and fabric dripped water onto the rug.

"Quit staring already and get me something dry to wear," she heard herself snap.

Arnold nodded slightly as he rummaged through his drawers, extracting a T-shirt and pair of boxers. Tossing them to her, he covered his eyes with his hands and turned to face the calendar next to his desk.

"Done," she said breathlessly a moment later. The soaked clothes lay in a heap, bleeding out puddles beside the couch. From under the bed, a tiny orange cat she'd never seen before came bounding out, mewing softly and rubbing against her legs.

"Oh, for crying out loud. Like there weren't enough animals already festering in this house?"

"His name's Cadence," Arnold told her, still looking away from her. "He must like you."

"Hm."

"He usually goes into hiding when people come over."

"Yeah, well," Helga muttered, bending over discretely to massage Cadence's head. The little cat sniffed thoughtfully at her before curling up in a ball next to her sopping jeans.

"Helga," Arnold said slowly, voice muffled.

"What?"

"I..."

He turned around to face her. His eyes - his perfect green eyes, the subject of so many hundreds of her poems since preschool - were bloodshot, lined with dark swollen bags.

She wrung her hands anxiously. "Look, Arnoldo, don't you go getting any ideas about me _coming_ here or anything, seeing as how you already made it clear you didn't ever wanna talk to me again, and let me assure you, seriously, I couldn't care less about that, seriously, hardly, I mean, it's not like I miss you, but I just, well, you know, this is a shitty thing, a real, real shitty thing, and well, I know you must be sad, and afraid, and stuff like that. And I... well... see... I..."

Arnold opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

"I just needed to make sure everything was… well... you know," she finished.

"I can't lose him," he said, and his voice cracked on the last syllable. "Not again."

She could see his lower lip trembling, trace the movements of his blinking eyelashes as he struggled against the tears filling underneath them. The whimper that he let out was barely audible, even in the silent room. As if in a dream, or a nightmare, she felt herself moving closer to him. His arms found their way around her waist, hers at the pads of his shoulders. Without warning, Arnold leaned forward and buried his face in her neck. She could feel the skin there growing damper and stickier as the leftover rainwater mixed with his tears.

"It hurts so much, Helga."

She trembled, reaching out with one hand to pat him awkwardly on the head.

"It's not fair," he choked out.

"You got that right. It's like the most not fair thing on the planet."

"Y-yeah."

"You're gonna be okay, though. You know that, right? You're gonna get through this, I swear."

"M-maybe."

"I know, I know, it doesn't feel like that, but the thing is, the panic is messing with your head right now."

"Lerm - mm - I - "

"What?"

"Mmprh."

"You're gonna have to do a better job of talking than that, Arnold."

He just hung limply in her arms.

"Come on, you're not even trying!" she snapped. She felt his back quivering under her hands as he drew in a long gulp of air.

"Okay, well, you're breathing, so that's good," she said. "That's a start."

"I - can't…"

"Yes you _can_. Come on, try again."

He took another deep intake of air, this time following with an audible exhale.

"Again!" she commanded.

"What am I g-gonna do, Helga?"

"You're gonna keep breathing, that's what."

"What am I gonna do if he d-dies?"

He was crying audibly now, shaking so hard that his body was starting to slide out of her grasp. She hugged him more tightly, kneading her knuckles into his flesh in an attempt to steady him.

"You've gotta stop talking like that. Do that thing you're so good at. Be optimistic, remember that?"

"How can I be optimistic if he _dies_?"

"Arnold," she muttered softly, barely aware of the words coming out of her own mouth. "Where's that complete lack of grounding in reality? That blind faith you used to have in everything?"

"I'm older now."

"So what?" she said, almost frantically. She wished there were some asshole involved in this mess, somebody she could sucker punch until their rotting corpse lay in front of her in shambles. But there wasn't. And no matter how tightly she held the boy in her arms, she couldn't do anything to make it better.

"I c-can't always be that way anymore. Just like you're not completely how you used to be, either."

 _Well, I still love you_ , she wanted to scream. _More_ _than anything on this earth._

* * *

Miles mumbled incoherently into the pitch black. She shifted under his arm, her back aching on top of the uncomfortable metal bedsprings. The room hummed with the quiet chatter of the machines it was filled with.

"Don't leave me," Stella said. She spoke into the thin fabric of his gown. "Please. I'm not going to make it without you."

There was no response from the man beside her.

"Please, Miles. You're not even trying. I need you to keep breathing."

Miles rolled over to face her, the tubes tugging at his nose. His eyelashes fluttered for a moment. He lifted his hand, held it out for her to squeeze.

"I love you," he said softly. His chest moved up and down in time with hers. And at three A.M., they were both finally asleep.

* * *

"I knew," he heaved. "I knew h-he was struggling. I knew something was wrong, and I d-didn't do anything at all to try to fix it."

"Arnold, he had a heart attack. That's not something _you_ could've prevented."

"He was in so much p-pain. He was s-so stressed out. He needed me to b-be there for him, I just know it, and I wasn't. Why wasn't I?"

"Because you're not a mind reader, that's why, and you're not a God damn therapist. You're just doing your best."

"Well, it d-doesn't seem like my best is good enough anymore."

"It is, okay? It's always been enough. You just set expectations for yourself that are so high you can't reach them."

"And now you're h-having to come out here, s-soaking wet in the middle of the night."

"Well, that's okay. It's just fine, Football Head, because I got no place else to be."

"H-how about sleeping?"

"Nah," she told him softly. "Not important."

"Helga, I'm really, really sorry."

"No need to be sorry. I mean, there're worse things you could do than get your snot and tears all over me."

"No, I mean that I'm sorry I yelled at you. I'm sorry I accused you of all that stuff you didn't do. I should've believed you."

She squeezed her eyes shut for just a moment. "Oh. I mean - how'd you find out?"

"Big Gino," Arnold explained. "It h-happened today. Well, yesterday now. He was in love with Lila, I guess."

"Yeah, I already know."

"Oh," he sniffled. "Well, I should have -" he began, but she cut him off.

"Don't. Just don't. You don't have to apologize, and you shouldn't. I would've thought it was me too. I'm the one who should be sorry, alright? Not just for the geckos. For everything."

"What's _everything_?"

"Maybe one day, I'll stop torturing the people I care most in this world about." She paused. "I'm trying, Arnold. I know it doesn't always seem like it. But I am. And I can try harder, I know I can."

"I know you can, too," he said softly. He wiped his face with his sleeve. "And so can I. Look, it's really late. I think we both need to get to sleep. Why don't I walk you home?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Helga told him. "I got here myself, didn't I? I'll get home fine."

But she suddenly felt utterly exhausted, like her legs were close to collapsing under the weight of her body. She sat down on his couch, only intending on sitting down for a moment.

She would wake up a half hour later to feel Arnold gently lifting her head enough to slip a pillow underneath it. He pulled the sheets and the blanket from his own bed and wrapped them around her. Then he laid down on his bare mattress, and he turned out the lights. And at three A.M., they were both finally asleep.


	20. Stay, Just a Little While

**Author's Note:** Thank you again from the bottom of my heart, to everyone who has taken the time to read this story. Tomorrow's Monday again, y'all. But I think we'll make it.

* * *

20: Will You Stay Just a Little While?

Helga woke the next morning with a throbbing headache. Her limbs felt like they were tied up in knots from spending the night on Arnold's slightly-too-short couch. Grunting to herself, she remembered the days when she'd actually been small enough to hide out for hours in the tiny space behind it.

Her eyes focused in on Arnold, who was snoring softly on the bed across from her. She suddenly forgot the ache in her back as she gazed longingly at him. He looked so beautiful, with his golden hair all splayed out in every direction, and his stupid head buried in his hands, and his pajama-clad body moving up and down in the dusty light -

A buzzing sound beside her pulled her abruptly out of her reverie. Helga looked over at her phone screen to see seven missed calls and a text from Curly.

 **ill go ahead and assume youre staying over with** **him. let me know if u need anything**

"Love ya, Curly Q," Helga muttered out loud. Arnold rolled over on his mattress, blinking and rubbing his eyes before he sat up against the headboard.

"Hey," he mumbled thickly. She felt her heart swell up.

"Hi."

"You… sleep okay?"

She nodded. There was so much that she needed to say. Questions, about how he felt, and how his dad was, and what they should do next, were fizzing up in her brain like so many bubbles. But the lump in her throat seemed to be precluding her ability to say anything at all.

"My mom called me about an hour ago," he told her, before she could even open her mouth. "She's still at the hospital. I guess I fell back asleep after that."

She swallowed. "Why don't you go visit them?"

"I'm going to," he said, and began to comb his fingers fretfully through his hair.

She rose from the couch, tugging at the collar of the T-shirt he'd given her and looking determinedly down at the floor as the color rose in her face. "Well, I guess my parents might be wondering where I've been. I mean, that's not likely. But it's possible."

"Come with me," Arnold blurted out.

"I… Arnold, I… don't you think this is kind of a personal family – "

"We can get breakfast afterwards. Like those chocolate chip waffles from Bigal's," he suggested. "The ones you like, with buttermilk, not the gross ones with bananas added in."

She chewed on her lower lip as she considered him.

"Please, Helga. I really need you."

* * *

"…And additional blood tests to check for the presence of enzymes," Dr. Fisher was saying, his voice low as he read from his clipboard. Miles was still asleep on the bed in front of them. "We've made the decision to inject a thrombolytic agent, streptokinase, into the veins. A nitroglycerin treatment is already in effect."

"So what about the surgery?" Stella asked impatiently.

"We're going to wait a few days, if possible. We'll move him into a more comfortable room immediately."

She couldn't rip her eyes off of Miles, who groaned softly in his sleep.

"Coronary artery bypass surgery is a strenuous operation for the patient. It's ideally performed after the heart muscle has had some time to recover." Dr. Fisher looked carefully at her. With his velvety voice and thick white hair, he had the calming presence of someone knowledgeable and well-versed in care taking. More importantly, he gazed straight at her when he talked: a rarity in the medical field that Stella had learned long ago not to take for granted. Nevertheless, she found herself struggling to trust.

"How do we know how much time we have?"

"We're closely monitoring him at all hours, and we will continue to do so. Given his unique history, we need to take every extra precaution before we begin a procedure like this."

"It's been almost five years since we've been conscious again, Dr. Fisher," Stella said, trying her best not to sound defensive. "And we've both been closely monitored, for all of that time."

"I understand your point," Dr. Fisher told her gently. "But you know as well as I do that nine and a half years of vitamin deficiency alters the landscape of a human body. I have high hopes, Stella. I know you do, too. But the worst thing we could do would be to push him too hard before he's ready."

"Ms. Shortman," came a soft voice on the other side of the blue curtain. "Your son is back. With a friend. Okay if they come in?"

Stella sighed with the temporary relief that swelled in her gut. Her worry for her husband had only ever been matched by her worry for Arnold. She'd become so weighed down over the past eighteen hours that she'd almost lost sight of how to carry both.

"Please," Stella replied. "Send him in."

It was several seconds before the two teenagers wandered into the room. They looked distinctly disheveled, glancing at each other awkwardly and wearing pajamas underneath their coats. Stella blinked at the tall blonde girl, whose eyes began darting around in every direction as she took in the various forms of hospital equipment. It had been so many months since Stella had seen her.

"Helga," she said softly. "It's good to see you. How are you, sweetheart?"

Helga fumbled with her hands. "Okay. Good to see you, too. I mean - I wish under - different circumstances - but - yeah. How's Miles' heart?"

"It's still beating."

Arnold drew closer to the bed, running a hand through his clearly uncombed hair. He looked as tired as Stella felt. Her heart throbbed as she reached out and began rubbing slow circles into her son's back while he leaned over his sleeping father.

"Hang in there, Dad," Arnold mumbled. Stella leaned over and kissed his forehead.

"We had a fishing trip planned for the spring," Arnold continued. His voice was shaking so much that he broke off, covering his face with his hands.

"It's okay, honey," Stella told him, but he went on through his fingertips, "It was supposed to be you, me, and Grandpa. W-we can't go without you. Please don't forget."

"That's right, give it to him straight," Helga hissed beside him. She squeezed his shoulder.

"Hm?" Arnold mumbled at her.

"Men love catching themselves a good trout."

"M-men love catching ourselves a good trout," he repeated.

"Uh-huh, they sure do. So he better get his butt out of this hospital bed."

"So you better get your butt out of this hospital bed," echoed Arnold.

"And his heart better be pumping perfectly. No excuses."

"And your heart better be pumping perfectly. No excuses."

Stella shrugged at Dr. Fisher, who appeared to be continuing to take notes on his clipboard.

"Come on, Stella," Helga said. "I think you need to get out of this room, for just a little bit. We can all get some breakfast."

* * *

"Harold Berman, Gino would like to remind you that at the present time, he is not... uh... he is not… expecting visitors," Gino's tallest assistant looked nervously up and down from his palms, which had apparently been graffitied with several messages in ballpoint pen. He seemed extremely hesitant about the strangeness of the situation at hand.

"I want to see him anyway," Harold insisted.

"He'd also like to add that he... uh... he..." the assistant squinted at the writing on his thumb. ".. he is no longer respecting, I mean, no wait, requiring your assistance. Additionally all previous agreements are now null and void."

"I just wanna check in with him, okay? Come on, lemme through."

"This is a private residence."

"Nah, it's just a dumb old garage." Harold pushed his way past the skinny assistant and into the lair, which smelled vaguely like fresh paint. Gino seemed to have spruced the entire place up since the day before – giving it a new forest green color, dusting out the spare tools on the wall, adding an even larger set of tires to his collection. Reorganizing must've been a coping mechanism for Gino, much like it was for Harold's mom.

"Berman," the booming voice rang out from behind his mahogany desk. "What brings you here?"

"I, um... I was just in the neighborhood, sir. Thought I'd stop by."

"You thought you'd stop by."

"Yes," Harold croaked.

When Big Gino crawled out and into the muted light, Harold could see that his face was oddly devoid of color. "Nothin' to stop by for. You did yuh job about as poor as I expected. And now yous is finished."

"Well, sir, I just wanted to make sure -"

"Go home, Berman."

"I wasn't here to bother you or nothin'. I just wanted to make sure everything was alright, that's all. After what happened, I -"

"Go home!"

"Okay." Harold hesitated for a moment, shuffling back and forth on the balls of his feet.

"I have been disgraced and humiliated," Gino said in exasperation, throwing up his hands. "And you come to me, and you says, is everything alright?"

"Uhh... well –"

"I shoulda known a classy woman like Lila Sawya would neva go for the likes of me." His shoulders sagged with his words. "Big Gino was born to be feared, not loved."

Harold took a deep breath. He didn't know what compelled him to do it, but he straightened up a little, puffing out his chest as far as it would go. "Gino, sir. You're a man, and I'm a man. So I'm gonna go ahead and talk to you like one."

Gino blinked at him.

"You said from the beginning you wanted me to help you make Lila see the real you. The guy you are on the inside. The guy who likes poetry and flowers and, you know, dainty stuff like that."

"And look where that got me!" Gino thundered in anguish. "Big Gino bares his soul for all to see, and he gets nothin' but pain and rejection!"

"But she didn't reject you for baring your soul, sir. She said so herself. She rejected you cause of your big, stupid, raging jealousy issues. You coulda just asked to spend time with her. But you were too dumb and scared to do that, so you kept on hurting people instead."

"And you thinks it was easy for me? To just stand by and watch while the woman I love was swept up in the arms of anotha man?" Gino spluttered, enraged. "The kid with the head. He's lucky I didn't arrange for his murda."

"Well, Gino, I'm real glad you didn't." Harold scratched his head. "Hey – by the way - you're not gonna - hurt Lila or something like that, are you?"

GIno shook his head firmly. "Neva. Lila Sawya has made her wishes known. It's time for Gino to move on now."

"Oh," Harold breathed in relief. "Great. Anyways, I'm real glad my debt's all paid off."

"Berman, it's time for yous to leave my office now."

Gino's assistants immediately lunged forward and grabbed hold of Harold's arms, but Gino snapped his fingers. "He's a man. Let 'im walk out on his own accord. Gentlemen, as you were."

As Harold made his way out of the garage and into the fresh air, a wave of sweet, sweet relief undulated through his chest for the first time in forever. The feeling was so welcome, so freeing. Before today, he'd almost begun to wonder if he would ever feel it again.

Patty was still sitting on the sidewalk with her back resting against a garbage can, hands hidden away in the pockets of her jacket. Her breath spiraled out in white clouds in the cold. She looked up when she saw him, her eyebrow raised.

"Well?" she asked tentatively.

"It's all good," Harold told her, shrugging. Patty sighed as she stood up.

"You did a really, really stupid thing."

He hung his head. "Yeah, I did."

"You could've just told me you didn't have the money to take me out, you know. I would have understood."

"I know. I'm real sorry."

"We could have done a million other things. There are so many things that are free. Like throwing rocks in the water from the boardwalk."

"Yeah. I won't do it again."

"Good."

"Patty?" Harold rubbed his thumbs together nervously. "You wanna throw some rocks in the water from the boardwalk?"

He thought he saw the vaguest hint of a smile on her face as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Her knuckles brushed against his as she reached for his hand. But she dropped it again as quickly as she took it, moving past him instead to lead the way to the icy waters, and stopping every now and then to collect pebbles in the gravel along the way.

* * *

The doorbell rang early that day, sending Lila leaping to her feet.

"I'll get it, Daddy," she called as she skipped from her bedroom to the living room. She paused just before opening the front door, shaking her head at herself. What had her so eager about doing homework - and on a Saturday morning, no less?

Stinky was all bundled up and holding his usual red knapsack, which was filled to the brim with their weekend reading assignments.

"Mornin', Miss Lila. Sure is chilly out there."

She shut the door after him, shivering with the gust of wind that blew in. "It certainly is. Can I interest you in some hot chocolate or coffee?"

"Coffee? You sure do have grown-up tastes."

"Oh, no. I just suggested it in case you wanted it. I only drink hot chocolate. I'll ask my daddy to make us some. It's just delicious the way my daddy does it, because he always puts in extra cinnamon, and mini marshmallows, and oodles and oodles of whipped cream."

"That sounds downright delectable."

"Oh, it is."

"And I hope you're feelin' better," Stinky said carefully. "After tha ornery events a yesterday. Big Gino sure is a vile feller."

"Yes," Lila replied. For a moment, she felt her belly cave in with distaste again. To make everything worse, Arnold had seemingly completely disappeared from school after Gino had revealed himself as the force of destruction behind the disasters that had befallen their dates. Lila wondered if perhaps her friend thought that she had been conspiring with the mobster. She'd sent Arnold a text yesterday asking him if he was okay, and she had yet to hear back from him.

"Was Gino… was he writin' you them poems for a long time?" Stinky asked.

"Yes, he was. And I liked them for awhile."

"Well, you didn't know who they was from."

"No, I didn't."

"If'n ya ever get the chance," Stinky said slowly. "Would ya wanna date someone who courted ya anonymously with love letters like that?"

"Oh, Stinky," Lila sighed. "You have no idea. I thought it was romantic, just ever so romantic. I just wish the person really writing them had been decent."

* * *

"Chocolate chip waffles," Helga demanded to the waitress taking their order, tossing her menu down to the edge of the table, where Arnold caught it with one hand. "But not the gross banana ones, please, alright? Just straight up chocolate chips."

"I think I'll just – I'll just have –" Stella said quietly, groping for her glass of water. Beside her, Arnold gave his mother's hand a tight squeeze.

"Come on, Mom, you have to eat something. What about the oatmeal with fresh fruit? You always liked that," he reminded her.

"The oatmeal," Stella agreed. "With fruit."

"And… I'll have pancakes," Arnold said. He collected all three plastic menus neatly and handed them over.

"We should sneak something back to Miles," Helga said hoarsely, after their waitress had disappeared to the kitchen. "Hospital food really sucks."

"Hey, yeah," Arnold agreed, nodding.

Stella glanced warily at the kids. "I don't know that he's up for eating anything, at this point."

"Well, what's his favorite?" Helga asked.

"Biscuits and gravy," Stella muttered. Through her grief, and her sleeplessness, and her utter exhaustion, she could feel the shadow of something like a crazed giggle at the tip of her tongue.

* * *

Connie Hayden was the kind of girl who glittered. With her stick straight blonde hair, meticulously applied lipstick, and perfect high cheekbones, her appearance left little to be desired. Plus, her collection of leather Prada handbags was simply to die for, Rhonda thought resentfully.

But Rhonda Lloyd was also the kind of girl who glittered. And though her story with Samuel was nothing short of finished, as far as she was concerned, her story with her new friends was not. If she was going to be charcoal grilled by a person she had trusted, she had finally decided, she was going to make damn sure said person could taste how badly she'd been burned.

"I hate to say it, Rhonda, but this is just how Connie is," Maria told her. She was applying red toenail polish with her feet stretched out across Rhonda's bed. "She just likes to have guys wrapped around her finger, especially the football team. She doesn't even like Samuel. She just likes one-upping all of us."

"Well, that's a horrible way to be," Rhonda said crossly. "A petty, horrible way to be."

"I know."

"Why has nobody ever called her out for it?"

Maria rolled her eyes, blowing daintily at the wet polish.

"Well?" Rhonda prompted, hands flying to her hips.

"Because," Maria said. "You don't call Connie out. You just get back at her."

"And how am I supposed to do that?"

"Jesus, I don't know. Just – like, hook up with Wolfgang, or something like that."

Rhonda felt her insides coil up in disgust. " _Wolfgang_?"

"Or one of the members on that team, I don't know. It doesn't really matter who it is, as long as they're big and strong and athletic. Then Connie'll be jealous."

"I will _not_ hook up with _Wolfgang_."

Maria exhaled testily. "Then don't. Find someone else on the team instead."

"Fine!" Rhonda snapped. "Maybe I will."

* * *

"Slip it to him," Helga whispered, handing the Styrofoam box of unhealthy treats to Stella. Arnold chewed on his lower lip, but he nodded.

"Alright, honey," Stella said finally. "Maybe I will." She hugged each of the kids, whose faces hadn't grown any less exhausted over the past hour. "Get some sleep, please."

"You too, Mom," Arnold told her. He offered her a wave before he and Helga set off down the sidewalk, their footsteps slow in the bronzing afternoon light.


	21. That Child That Went Away

21: That Child That Went Away

It was bizarre, Arnold thought. It was stranger than fiction, how everyday life continued to go on at the boarding house, as though the people inside of it hadn't just had their worlds irreversibly shaken. Suzie and Oskar continued to fight. His grandmother continued brewing lemon-herring-hibiscus teas. Abner went on eating bacon, and Cadence curled up in all the same spots - behind the radiator, on top of the washing machine, under Arnold's bed.

Grandpa suggested he stay home on Monday, try to get some rest. "It will all be waiting for you tomorrow, short man," he reminded him.

Arnold sighed heavily. "I know, Grandpa. But I can't just sit around all day, worrying. I'm already making myself sick."

True to his word, he left for school early in the morning, his backpack heavy with books. It was freezing out - so cold that his fingers went numb, even wearing gloves. Ice crystals flowered over the asphalt and cracked their way across store windows, silver-white against the inky pink sunrise.

"You ready, man?" Gerald asked him. Arnold was panting by the time he arrived at his best friend's house. The cold made him feel like his lungs were constricting in his chest.

"No," he admitted as they set off down the sidewalk together.

"Just remember, your dad is strong. Real strong."

"I know."

"He wouldn't've survived ten years of sleeping sickness in San Lorenzo if he wasn't."

"I just can't help but feel like this is different, Gerald. This time he needed something he didn't get. And what if it's too late now to give it to him?"

"How could it be too late? He's still alive, isn't he? Is he going into surgery today?"

"Tomorrow morning." Arnold took another anxiety-ridden breath. They arrived at school twenty minutes later, tugging off their jackets and stomping the mud from their sneakers. The pre-homeroom clamor seemed especially extreme, even though it was no more so than usual. Arnold had barely shut his locker when he heard the familiar voice cut through the noise.

"Yo, Geraldo! Football Head!"

He turned to see Helga and Phoebe heading towards them, caught in a rippling crowd of students. In spite of himself, he felt his heart begin to flutter rapidly.

"Any more news about your father, Arnold?" Worry pooled in Phoebe's eyes as she looked him up and down.

"Not yet."

Beside him, he felt a soft, lightning-speed squeeze to his hand. But by the time he looked down, Helga had already pulled away, her face flushing bright pink. Gerald glanced at her and cleared his throat. "Well, we got high hopes, all of us. And there's gonna be news soon. Good news. I know it."

* * *

"Alright, ladies, listen up. Our team bonding session is this Friday night, and if any of you dare to not haul your sorry butts there you'll be paying extra in planks next weekend. If you had plans, cancel 'em. If you had a hot date, tell him to reschedule or else date a ballerina instead."

There was a smattering of light groans from Helga's teammates.

"Aw, come on Helga, can't it be Thursday instead?" Nadine begged, crossing her arms over her chest.

"No!"

"Some of us actually have social lives, ya know."

"So do I!" Helga snapped. "But I prioritize my damn team when I need to."

"Why did we vote to make you co-captain again?" Nadine muttered.

"Because I'm a freaking inspiring leader, that's why. And when I say it's time to bond, it's time to bond." She turned expectantly towards her partner, Patty, who shrugged and nodded.

"I agree with these girls," Coach Tish spoke up. "And Friday should be a potluck dinner, too. You all gotta cook something."

Helga slapped a hand to her forehead. "I didn't say that."

"I think that sounds like, well, kind of like a nice idea," Patty spoke up, rubbing her arm shyly. "There's this special recipe my family has for lasagna. My mom and I could make some."

"Oh, _criminy_."

"I'll bring meatballs," Daphne added, while the other girls began chiming in with their assorted ideas.

"Good. We're close to the season," Tish said firmly. "We need to start acting like it. Friday night, you all bring your dish, and then we talk strategy. Cold, hard strategy."

"Our strategy is we whip everyone's asses," Helga announced. "No ifs, ands, or buts. It doesn't matter whether this team was formed in 1997 or 2007 or 2028. We'll be winners, or else you'll all be sorry."

"And you'll also be sorry if you don't cradle that ball," added Tish threateningly. "I'm looking at you, Helga."

"Okay, okay, I get it. By the way, I'm just gonna bring cookies, alright? Like, an economy-size tray from Sam's Club."

"Not a chance, Pataki," said Coach Tish. "It better be homemade, and we all better love it, or else you get booted from your leadership role."

* * *

Rhonda had always liked the football hallway, long before her - whatever it had been - with Samuel.

It was a special passageway at Hillwood High. There was something enthralling about it, particularly during the fall season, and especially at Spirit Week in October, when the cheerleading squad decorated it with red and white balloons. Even throughout the rest of the year, however, the hallway remained a revered place. You couldn't be a student at the school without walking through it, given its location just before the entrance to the main gymnasium. It was lined with glass trophy cases, which displayed every award the team had won since 1966. Also included was a section featuring the photos of each current member on the team.

It was close to five P.M. by the time the school had finally quieted down enough for Rhonda to feel safe. Slipping out from the library, where she'd been pretending to study, she mouthed each of her options' names as she ran her pointer finger across their engraved plaques: _Samuel Smith… Wolfgang_ _Walker… Ludwig Van Dyke… Cristiano Amberlane_...

"Hey."

Rhonda jumped when she heard the gravelly voice behind her. She whipped around so fast that tendrils of her hair flew in her face. She'd have recognized those humungous brown eyes anywhere.

"Rhonda." Samuel swallowed audibly. "We have to talk."

Rhonda stumbled backwards, clutching her Louis Vuitton purse to her chest.

"Can we go somewhere private?"

"No!" Rhonda hissed. "How dare you just… just innocently traverse this... this hallway created for you, dedicated to you, and featuring you?" She trailed off lamely and then turned on her heel, trying to flounce off in the other direction. But Samuel grabbed her by the arm, throwing her off balance so violently that she almost tripped.

"Don't _touch_ me!" she shrieked, prompting him to let go of her immediately.

"Look, Rhonda, I get why you're upset and I don't blame you. I would be too."

Rhonda crossed her arms over her chest. She could feel her heart slamming up against her skin, but she tried to ignore it as she glared at the boy in front of her.

"What I wanted to say is I'm sorry. I've been trying to track you down for weeks to tell you, but you haven't been answering any of my texts."

"You're sorry," she grimaced, releasing a short, nearly hysterical laugh.

Samuel drew closer to her. She could smell the spices in his cologne. "I know how you feel about me."

"I feel nothing for you, Samuel Smith. Absolutely nothing. Zero. Zilch."

"Okay." The pity in his voice enraged her.

"Don't say it like _that_!"

"Like what?"

"You think you're so special, don't you? Like every girl you meet just falls at your feet?"

"Well, yeah." Samuel scratched his head.

" _Typical_."

"I'm still sorry and I always will be. Look, Rhonda, I didn't mean to use you and I didn't mean to lead you on. It's just... you don't know how it is. Wolfgang and Torvald and all of the guys - they're on me every second. Getting girls… it's a competition with them."

"Did I ask to hear this?!" Rhonda snapped.

"No. But I felt terrible and I wanted to have the chance to explain. I know what everyone thinks of me. I know what they think of Connie, too. But it's not like that with us. I really care about her. Connie - she's really messed up in a lot of ways, but she's not a horrible person and I don't think I am, either."

Rhonda tried to swallow the burning sensation in her throat.

"I mean, people act like she's some kind of… I don't know what," he continued. "Heartless bitch. But that's not how she really is. They don't get to see her like I do."

"Are you trying to say you really like her?"

"Yeah, I am. And she really likes me. That's been the case for a long time."

She felt tears forming in the corners of her eyes, but she bit them back quickly as she straightened her back. She was Rhonda _Wellington_ Lloyd and she would not cry in front of him. "And how exactly," she said quietly. "Did this not come up even once during the whole time that you were - that we were..."

"It did. It came up a lot. I haven't been able to stop thinking about Connie for a year. I kept telling myself I'd get over it, and so would she. But then she showed up at my doorstep crying after your New Year's Eve party, and I knew I'd been kidding myself into ever thinking I could be what the guys want me to be. I'm not _whipped_ ," he added almost defensively, as if Rhonda had accused him as such. "I just don't want to be with other girls anymore. Only her."

Rhonda's fingernails dug into her arm. "Oh," she said blankly.

"I still think you're beautiful. I wasn't lying about that."

"Does that matter now?" She shook her head. "Did it ever?"

"I… I don't know."

 _Don't cry, don't cry, don't_ – "Okay. Well, now you got the chance to tell me, so can you just leave? Wherever you were going, Samuel, just go there."

"I was coming from track practice," he said. "And I guess I'm going home now." He paused. "I'm sorry again."

Samuel had just disappeared when Rhonda heard more footsteps coming from behind her. She whirled around to see Nadine emerge from where she may or may not have been waiting in the gymnasium doorway.

"Rhonda," Nadine said softly. Rhonda could feel her lower lip trembling.

"What on _e-earth_ is everyone doing here so late?"

"I just came from the locker room. We wrapped up lacrosse practice about twenty minutes ago. And I… I couldn't help but overhear."

"Oh, s-so you think I'm pathetic, is that it, Nadine? Are you coming to tell me you told me so?"

Nadine stared thoughtfully at her, resting her lacrosse stick and backpack down on the floor. "Well, I did tell you so, but –"

"I wish they'd just been evil. Pure evil," Rhonda said, unable to mask her bitterness. "Both of them. Now it hurts m-more than before. I thought she was the other woman, but it's so much w-worse than that. _I'm_ the other woman."

"It's okay," Nadine told her in a small voice. She wrapped her arms around her friend, stroking Rhonda's hair as her tears finally fell.

* * *

"No, Curly, I'm not joking," Helga rattled impatiently. "I really have to cook something for the team dinner on Friday."

"Oh man, what are you gonna make?"

"How should I know? I'll have to look up a recipe for brownies or something."

"I'd love to be here to help, I really would," Curly said somewhat frantically. He was arranging his trail mix and pillow meticulously beside his duffel bag. "But I think I have to go home, Helga."

" _What_?"

"My mom called me while you were at practice," he explained. "She's coming back from Montana again. Her plane gets in at nine forty-five. I can't just not be there, Helga."

"No, you're right. You gotta get home to her."

"And besides, I think Dad might be gone for good now. Haven't heard from him at all."

"You have to swear me," she said urgently as Curly began to roll up his sleeping bag. "I mean, you have to _swear_ , Curly, that when you go home you will not hurt yourself. No knives – no razorblades – nothing. So help me God, I will report you and get you thrown in that adolescent psychiatric ward again if there's even the slightest scratch on your wrists tomorrow."

Curly shuddered. "I promise."

"I said you have to swear!"

"Okay, I swear."

From downstairs, the two of them heard the doorbell ring. Helga groaned. She'd actually almost forgotten that Olga was supposed to come over tonight.

"Good timing, I guess," she muttered. "Use the window, alright?"

She descended the stairs just in time to see the Miss America Wannabe making her entrance, dressed in some sort of ridiculous Spandex catsuit. Marina was at her side, trying to work the zipper on her coat.

"Baby sister!" Olga leapt forward and squeezed her so tightly that Helga could feel her blood circulation cutting off.

"Mmrph – hi."

"You will never guess where I just came from. A French Pilates class! The foreign stretches are so wonderful for you. What with Ricky being away for so long on his important business conference, my body just needed the therapy. Marina and I, we are _so_ happy to be here." She clasped her hands together. "Where are Mommy and Daddy?"

Helga wrenched out of her sister's grasp, rubbing at her strained neck. "Bob's still at work. And Miriam, she… uh - well, you know."

"No, I don't," said Olga, her face taking on a sterner quality. "Don't tell me she -"

"She's fine, she's fine. She's prolly just on the couch or something, completely sober. Yeah, super sober. Couldn't be more sober."

"Oh, goody. I'm going to be making us a soufflé."

"Aunty Elggggggaaaaa!" Mina roared impatiently with her jacket hanging precariously off one arm. She held out her hands in a desperate plea to be picked up.

"Oh, quit your whining," Helga said. She scooped up the little girl and ran her fingers fondly through her curls.

"Aunty Helga loves Mina. Mina and Aunty. Aunty and Mina go play."

"Marina, sweet pea, you can play with your aunt, but you must'nt get your dress dirty," Olga told her. "You'll need to look sparkling clean when we all enjoy our dinner together, as a family."

"Hey, Olga, speaking of dinners... you wouldn't happen to have frozen a bunch of your home cooked pot pies or something, would ya? Like say, enough to feed fifteen or so people?"

"...Why in the world would you need enough pot pies for fifteen people?"

"No reason," Helga grumbled.

"It's your little boyfriend, isn't it?" Olga clasped her hands together in delight. "Oh, Helga, did you finally agree to cook a meal for him and his family?"

"No!" Helga retorted sharply, feeling her face turn red. "God, what is this, the eighteenth century? And besides, we broke up like a hundred years ago."

"Oh, Helga," Olga clapped her hand over her mouth. "I'm so sorry, pumpkin. I didn't know." She threw her arms around her sister again.

"Enough with that!" Helga snapped as she squirmed away, stroking Mina's back protectively. "I need food for my lacrosse team dinner on Friday night."

"Lacrosse? You play lacrosse now? On a team?"

"No, Olga, I play lacrosse for the traveling circus. _Yes_ , on a team."

"I always knew my baby sister would make a fantastic athlete. Oh, that's so wonderful. You must be just the fastest little thing on the field."

Helga rolled her eyes. "So are you gonna help me figure out what to cook, or not?"

"I would absolutely love to. Ooh, I just love cooking. We can make something scrumptious together."

* * *

Lila exhaled softly as she began to lay her books out on the tiny wooden desk in her room. Truthfully – though she liked school – she'd never exactly loved Mondays. The time always just seemed to drag on when she knew the weekend was five whole days away again. Such had been the case today, and now that she was finally home, all she really wanted to do was curl up in her bed and get some sleep.

"Lila, are you almost ready for dinner?" her father called.

"Yes, Daddy, I'll be there in a minute." Her fingers stumbled over a crumpled sheet of loose-leaf paper, which seemed to have been surreptitiously stowed inside the latest book for Mr. Turner's class, The Great Gatsby. Blinking, she folded open the page and began to read.

 _Lila my, darlin_

 _You sure is charmin_

 _Lovely as, a flower_

 _Better tastin then whiskey, sour_

 _Probably, only I don't really know how you taste._

~ _From, Anonimous._

Lila shook her head slowly. "That's certainly a lot of misplaced commas."

But she smiled as she placed the poem on her desk and headed towards the kitchen, suddenly feeling much more awake.

* * *

"I think he's ready," Stella said to Dr. Fisher. She kept her voice low. Miles was in his room with the TV tuned into Animal Planet. The screen flickered blue while lemurs and mice and night monkeys killed their prey.

"Yes. I think so, too."

"He's a lot stronger than he looks."

"Oh, he looks very strong to me, Stella."

She offered him a lopsided half-smile, close to rupturing with fear.

"As strong as can be expected," Dr. Fisher said again, more firmly.

"It hasn't been easy for us."

"I know."

"You say that. But you don't know. An entire decade of our lives went missing. And when we woke up, we had lost so many people. Neither of us will ever be able to hold that alone." She turned away from him, facing the large black hands on the wall clock across from them. Dr. Fisher was quiet for a moment.

"I'm so sorry, Stella."

"All of our friends dying. Arnold growing up without his parents. Not being able to find steady work. The depression and the panic attacks. Miles felt, inside of himself, that all of it was his fault. He blamed himself for everything."

"No one could live with that burden."

"No."

"He'll have the chance to start again," Dr. Fisher said carefully. His eyes flickered as the primate on the TV screen picked up her young with her teeth, carrying him up tree branches, away to freedom.

* * *

"Man is it nice to have you home, Olga. Feels like this place is finally complete again." Big Bob shoveled the last of his food into his mouth and sat back in his chair, arms folded behind his head.

"Soup is hot," Mina offered, blowing dramatically at the soufflé on her plate.

"Soufflé, honey," Olga told her. "Soufflé is hot."

"Mina!"

"You what?"

"Soup is hot, Mommy!"

"So, Ricky still makin good money?" Bob burped loudly.

"Oh Daddy. You're such a silly. There are more important things, you know. I bet the two of you simply can't _wait_ for Helga's first lacrosse game."

"Eh?" Bob raised his eyebrow.

"You will be going, won't you?" Olga asked, her voice suddenly taking on a fretful edge.

"I'm a business executive, for crying out loud. I can't just take off work for every little thing."

"Mommy?" Olga directed her question to Miriam, who accidentally knocked over her glass of water as she rubbed sleepily at her eyes.

"Oh… what did you say?"

"Just forget it, Olga – " Helga growled, but her sister interrupted, "Helga's first lacrosse game. Are you going to go?"

"I don't need or want Miriam there!" Helga protested. Her mother blinked, suddenly looking vaguely alive.

"Dessert!" Mina demanded, flinging her fork across the kitchen.

"I… I'd like to be there, honey." Miriam's voice was so tiny Helga almost missed it.

"Mom, seriously. It's not that exciting. We're gonna be running back and forth across a muddy field with a bunch of sticks."

"You... so you... don't want me to go?" Miriam looked down at her hands. "I won't go if you don't want me to."

Helga couldn't help or even begin to explain the guilt that suddenly pinpricked at her heart.

"Of course she wants you to go, Mommy," Olga said firmly. "You've been doing such a fantastic job. Going to all your AA meetings, refraining from driving until your license is restored, staying healthy and sober. Don't you think for one second that Helga doesn't keep me updated. She tells me all about it. We're all so proud of you." She wiped a tear from her cheek. "Knowing I can trust you with my daughter means the entire world to me."

Bob choked into his cup. Across from him, Miriam's face filled with some semblance of understanding as she gazed back and forth between her two daughters.

"Dessert," Mina protested again. "Mina eat dessert?"

"Marina, darling, we can't eat too much sugar."

Helga stabbed at her soufflé. "If you really want to go to my game, Miriam, then you can. Just don't feel obligated, alright?"

She figured her mom would forget about it by March, anyway.

* * *

"Are you alright, Eugene?"

Eugene Horowitz stared across the dining room table at his father, whose eyes were slightly large as they trailed the movements of his son's fork across his plate.

"Huh?" he said distractedly.

"I don't want to pry. It's just - your mother and I - we're concerned about you. You haven't seemed like yourself for a long time now."

"You haven't, sweetheart," his mom added.

Eugene swallowed the dry turkey in his mouth. It tasted like metal as it went down his throat.

* * *

 **Author's Note** :

Re: Miriam Pataki… not that anyone asked, lol, but I'm obsessed with her, which I guess is why she features somewhat prominently in all 3 HA stories I've ever written. That's because my mom has struggled with alcoholism throughout my life, so even watching the cartoon as a child I felt an emotional draw to the complex, problematic, and sometimes fleetingly warm relationship between Helga and Miriam. I really hate when fanfictions turn Miriam into a one-dimensional negligent parent, because I see her as a much more interesting character than that, with a lot of love underneath her issues (like Helga), and vast potential to be a better person if she could just get her shit together (also like Helga).

Anyway, thank you so much for reading. If you want to review, that would be great and very appreciated. I wish much love to you, and a happy Monday.


	22. Tangled in Fear

22: Tangled in Fear

Ten days after the operation, Miles was still in the hospital – "resting and recovering," the doctor had said. Stella lived and breathed there, while Arnold and his grandparents visited each morning and afternoon. They brought Miles every trinket from home they could think of: crumbling pieces of asphalt from Ernie's latest demolition, photos of Abner enjoying his eight A.M. bacon. Even a Get Well card from Oskar, with every word except _better_ spelled correctly.

Still, Arnold couldn't shake his nerves. Alone in his bedroom, his mind wandered to dark places. And so, he resorted to turning to the one person who could – somewhat ironically – provide him with a sense of calm.

"Are you done with practice?" he muttered into the receiver of his cell phone. His notebooks were splayed out on every corner of his desk, and still, he wasn't even halfway through the homework due the next day.

"Yeah, Football Head, I am."

"Well, do you think… do you think maybe you'd be able to come over? I mean, please don't feel obligated or anything – I was just thinking, maybe we could work on the English – "

But the line was dead; Helga had already hung up the phone. She appeared in his bedroom doorway ten minutes later, looking very out of breath as she flung her backpack onto his rug and began sifting through its contents.

"You have no idea how long I've been trying to work on this essay," Arnold groaned, running a hand through his hair.

"Wrong. I do know, Arnoldo, because you've always been crap at this." She rolled her eyes as she whipped out her journal. "How many times do I have to tell you to outline your argument before you start writing it? Otherwise you just end up writing a whole bunch of stuff that goes nowhere."

"It's just… I don't know what I want to say."

"Well, that's your whole problem," she retorted. "When are you planning on figuring that out?"

* * *

 **Hey Eugene** , read the text from Layla Anderson. **Ur** **coming to the drama celebration later, right? We missed u at the last one. Mrs. Persad says pls come and make sure u eat the tortilla chips cuz we have a lot.**

Eugene sighed, laying his phone down again on the floor without answering Layla. If he didn't get his trigonometry homework done, he was almost certainly going to fail out of the class. He hadn't been able to focus for weeks; spacing out during school, and again at home while he was supposed to be studying. He unzipped his Abdicator-and-the-Fireball-from-Mars-themed knapsack and turned it upside down on the carpet.

Unfortunately, he was struck immediately by the absence of one very important thing.

"Oh gosh, my textbook!" he moaned out loud. "I left it at school."

He considered going back, but would anything except for the gym entrance be open anymore? The main doors would probably be closed, locked up until the next morning.

"What am I gonna do?" Panic began to bubble up in Eugene's chest. He'd already been late turning in at least a dozen assignments this year. One more, just one, and he knew he'd be a goner. Whipping out his phone again, he began scrolling through his not-too-lengthy contact list for someone who could help him out. Sheena didn't even take trigonometry; her advanced math skills had landed her in Pre-Calculus with a class of juniors and seniors. So Eugene's finger hovered instead over the first name in his phone: Arnold Shortman.

He felt a wave of relief wash over him when Arnold's reply to his text came back almost instantly. **Yeah, I** **have my textbook. Of course you can borrow it, Eugene. Come on over.**

 **Thanks buddy** , Eugene texted back as he leapt up, his foot accidentally catching on the strap of his bag and sending him sailing to the floor. From the ground, he fumbled for his fallen phone and finished, **You're a real pal.**

* * *

"No, no, no," Helga said irritably, crossing out an entire paragraph of Arnold's paper with her pencil. "Don't use a stupid analogy like this in an essay for Mr. Turner's class. He'll skin you alive."

"Okay," he agreed. He watched as flecks of eraser dust flew out sideways with Helga's aggression. The winter sunset was funneling into the room through his skylight, illuminating the gold in her hair with its dark blue and white hues. She looked so pretty, Arnold thought.

"Would you quit staring at me like that, Hair Boy? Sheesh, you're wigging me out."

"Sorry," he said hastily. He moved down from his desk chair to sit beside her on the floor.

"There," Helga announced with a tone of finality in her voice. "Ditched the stupid metaphors, fixed the possessive pronouns, strengthened your conclusion. Now it'll be less embarrassing for you when you have to turn this thing in tomorrow."

"I really appreciate it." He rubbed his eyes in exhaustion and then paused as his phone buzzed beside him. "Eugene's texting me. He forgot his math textbook."

"Figures."

"You know, Helga," Arnold said softly. "It's... it's really nice to be able to talk to you again."

"Must be. I'm a real special person."

He laughed and prodded her with his foot. "Yeah, you are."

Helga's face reddened visibly. But she kept her eyes downcast, fighting to maintain her determinedly blasé expression as she twirled her pencil around in her hands. "Think your dad'll be in the hospital for a lot longer now?"

"Honestly – I don't know. He has a pretty unique medical history. They want to monitor him for at least a little longer before he gets released to regular life again."

"I guess that makes sense."

"My mom keeps telling me that things are looking as good as they can be. That she's sure he'll be home soon. And it's not that I don't believe her, it's just… it's just hard sometimes. I can't explain it."

"You don't have to explain anything, Arnold. How could it not be hard? It's the scariest damn thing in the whole world to you."

"Yeah." He looked down at his hands before offering her a halfhearted smile. "How's your family been doing?"

"Same old crap. Bob still yelling at everyone, Olga playing fairy princess, Miriam still drunk."

"I hoped they would be doing better," Arnold said sadly. "I mean, they seemed like they were doing a little better last year. Your mom really seemed like she was in recovery."

Helga scowled, needling her fingernails into her thighs. "Yeah, but see, there's really no _recovery_ with Miriam. Only false starts and seven thousand setbacks."

"What happened to her AA group?"

"Damn it, Arnoldo, I don't know. She still tries to go sometimes, but mostly she just falls off the wagon and can never get back on it."

"There might be other things," Arnold said thoughtfully. "AA doesn't have to be for everyone, right? Maybe something else would help her."

"Like what, a blessing from the Dalai Lama?"

"No, just – something. We'd have to look into it, I don't really know."

Helga began to drum her fingers along her journal before finally opening it up, flipping through pages and pages of stanzas scribed in purple ink.

"Hey," Arnold blurted out. "Is that for that creative writing class you're taking?"

She gave him a steely glare rather than answer his question.

"I was just asking," he said, trying to backpedal. He knew how secretive she was about her general love of all things romantic, poetry especially.

"Yes. It's for my creative writing class."

"Well, I think that's really cool. That must be really fun for you."

"Oh, it's just tons of fun," Helga said drily. "And although I'm sure it would be _super_ exciting and not at all humiliating to be forced to read my actual poems about getting my heart broken in front of the entire class, it's almost as good reading the bullshit I write exclusively for Ms. Jenkins about cereal boxes and sunny days instead."

He blinked. "I—"

"Don't comment," she snapped. "I'm not emotionally equipped to handle that right now."

* * *

Eugene shivered as he knocked at the boarding house doors. The wind was howling, the sky had darkened to black, and to make matters worse, snow had begun to fall in sleety patches, making the ground so slippery he'd fallen on his face four times on the way over.

The door swung open. Arnold's grandmother was standing there at the threshold, dressed in a blue button-down suit and large, pointy English riding boots. She was closely trailed by her husband, who was grumbling under his breath as he attempted to fasten a bobby pin into the curls of his George Washington wig.

"Well hello there, young Governor!" Gertie exclaimed. "How splendid to see you."

"What?" Eugene asked.

"The sworn members of the Oval Office weren't expecting your presence till sundown Tuesday."

"Oh no, ma'am. I'm just here to see Arnold. He said I could borrow his trigonometry textbook."

"Up the stairs," Phil said, motioning with his hands and in the process dropping both the bobby pin and the wig. "Dagnabbit! How is this supposed to help Miles again?"

"Why, the blessings of the presidency _always_ ensure a speedy circulatory system recovery," Gertie chattered spiritedly as Eugene slipped past.

He managed to make it up both flights of stairs without tripping, a feat he felt proud of as he rapped anxiously at Arnold's partly ajar bedroom door. Cracking it all the way open before receiving an answer, he was met with the sight of both Arnold and Helga sprawled out on the floor.

"Oh, sorry," Eugene mumbled, suddenly flustered. "I didn't mean to interrupt anything."

"No, no – we're just doing homework," Arnold said quickly, springing to his feet. "Here, Eugene, my math textbook's right on my desk. The assignment is on page two hundred –"

But Eugene had suddenly frozen in place.

"—And if you get confused, like I did, just remember, you're not supposed to use the function we started going over at the end of class on Friday, that won't be until tomorrow night's homework."

Eugene took a tentative step closer to the gentle mewing sound he was sure he had heard. In seconds, a teensy, fuzzy orange tabby cat came slinking out from under the bed.

"Oh my gosh," he whispered. "Is it… is it really you?"

"Who?" Arnold asked, looking bewildered. "Wait, what?"

Eugene was too stunned to answer him. He held out his hand; the cat bounded over to him and began purring incessantly against his palm.

"It _is_. It is really you. I knew you would be okay in the end. I just knew it." He could feel hot tears pricking at his eyes.

"Um... Eugene... do you… uh…" Arnold hesitated. "Do you know Cadence?"

Beside him, Helga let out an incredulous snort as her eyebrow shot up to her hairline.

And Eugene didn't know exactly why.

But suddenly, he broke open.

The words began spilling out of him as he stroked the cat's fur, and Arnold and Helga stared at him, confusion miring the expressions on their faces.

X

It had been hot that day – so hot that even the pool provided little relief from the strong August temperatures. But Eugene and Sheena had been spending their last few weeks of freedom there anyway, along with half the Hillwood student body. Sheena liked the pool for its extensive snack bar, which now included vegan ice cream cones. While she swam, sunbathed, and chatted up the boys at the dessert stand, Eugene sat quietly on his beach towel, fully clothed in his shorts and T-shirt.

The Hillwood football team often came to the pool together, on breaks from their conditioning sessions for preseason. Eugene wasn't indiscrete – he didn't like to think he was – but the truth was, he was bored, and the concrete spacing was cramped, and his close proximity to everyone in sight made it difficult _not_ to look. They had the most amazing bodies, each of those team members, with muscles rippling out over their bathing suits, arms strong enough to carry a damsel in distress, legs toned and tanned from running up and down the fields. Daydreaming was usually sufficient to keep Eugene distracted long enough for the humid, crowded community center to be tolerable, at least until Sheena was ready to leave.

But that day, they'd already been there for hours, and still, Sheena wanted to stay even later. She was caught up in a conversation with one of the lifeguards, who'd approached her not only to recommend a nut-and-lactose-free Popsicle, but to compliment her on her classy one-piece bathing suit.

"I'm glad you're having fun, Sheena, but I think I'm going to head out," Eugene told his friend as dusk struck.

As he ambled out of the gates and down the sidewalk, his mind wandered to the clouds. He was busy wondering about all sorts of things – whether his mom had finished sewing the labels into his new underwear, what he'd have for dinner, when he'd finish his summer reading books – when a soft, almost inaudible mewing sound cut into his thoughts.

Eugene paused. The feline wailing was so timid he might have missed it had he not been walking in the narrow alleyway directly behind his building, where it was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. He followed the sound of the crying to the circle of trashcans, bins of empty bottles, and pieces of ancient furniture that rested on the asphalt. There, hiding amongst a pile of rotten apple cores and someone's torn couch, was a tiny orange tabby cat. He poked his head up as Eugene approached him, rubbing his whiskers up against the cotton stuffing poking out of the couch's arm.

"Hey there, little guy," Eugene said, bending over to scratch his tiny ears. "You poor little thing. You're a redhead, just like me. Do people think you're unlucky, too?"

The cat began to purr.

"No, of course not." He chuckled richly. "What was I thinking? Black cats are unlucky, not red ones. Well, that's wonderful, because you look like you could use a home, and I sure couldn't have afforded any more misfortune."

Eugene scooped him up, smiling to himself as the kitten stretched his paws happily across his chest.

"Nope, no collar. But I'll take care of you, don't worry."

"Is that what you'll do?"

Eugene jumped. He hadn't even heard anyone else in the alleyway. But suddenly Wolfgang was right there, still dressed in his swim trunks. His smile looked eerily carved, like the grin of a jack 'o lantern.

"Whatchya got there, fag?"

Eugene swallowed. "My name is Eugene."

"I see you staring all the time, you little pervert. People like you make me sick."

Eugene froze. His stomach suddenly felt like he was stuck on the upside-down roller coaster at Dino Land again.

"What's that rancid ball of fluff in your arms?"

"He's – he's a stray," Eugene stammered, taking a step back. "He needs a home."

"Yeah? I think I can give him one." Wolfgang laughed horrifically as he lunged forward and pried the cat away. Eugene watched in horror as he jammed the little creature into his duffel bag, ignoring the pained cries of protest as he zipped the bag back up.

"Hey, let him go!" Eugene hollered, clenching his fists at his side.

"Or what? You gonna wave your fairy princess wand and make the big bad bully go away?"

He could feel himself shaking. He knew something terrible was about to happen to him. He just didn't know what.

"I'll tell you what freaks like you deserve," Wolfgang breathed. His hands were close to the elastic waistband of Eugene's shorts.

"I'm not a freak."

"Then prove it."

"I can't... I don't have to prove anything."

But his voice was moving in and out, coming from somewhere far away. As the pain came, he muffled his screams, closed his eyes to reach that place - the place far beyond the one his body was in.

It wasn't until hours later, when he was in the bathroom, stretching his palms along the dried blood on the backs of his legs, when he would start to remember.

X

Eugene hadn't realized how late it was getting, nor how wet his face was until he collapsed on the rug. His body felt weak, drained. The illusion he had clung to just to get himself through his days had snapped, and in its breaking, he felt emptier than ever before. He was like a skin or a shell of a person, mere remnants of someone that might have once been whole.

It was several seconds, or maybe minutes or hours, before he felt a warm hand on his shoulder, prompting him to look up again.

Arnold's face was gentle, full of compassion. Beside him, Helga was staring at him with her mouth open. She was the one who spoke first.

"What the _hell_ ," she spit out. Her face was the color of glue. Arnold glanced at her for a moment, but before anyone could say another word she had raced toward his desk, tugged the wastebasket out from underneath it, and begun retching into the wicker-wrapped metal. Arnold rushed over to her and began patting her hair while she vomited.

"Oh, no," Eugene groaned, cupping his face with his hands. The smell of vomit made him queasy. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to–"

"Eugene!" Helga panted, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and pulling away from Arnold's grasp. "You need to fucking report that psychopath."

"No!" Eugene yelled before he could stop himself. "I – I don't want to do that – I can't."

"You have to! Wolfgang thinks he can just get away with anything cause he's a big, dumb Hillwood quarterback!"

"It's been too long, Helga."

"Six months? It's been six months! That's not a long time. Some people wait years to report shit like this."

"Helga," Arnold said softly. "Whether or not Wolfgang gets reported for this is Eugene's decision to make, not ours."

"But he –"

"Helga."

Helga slumped down with her arms folded. Arnold winced as he stood up, grabbed hold of his trashcan with one hand, and pushed it closer towards his open bedroom doorway.

"It's not too late," he added firmly to Eugene. "But you're the one who has to make that choice."

"There's one thing I don't understand," Eugene told them quietly. "How did the cat end up here with you?"

"Oh – my grandma –" Arnold scratched his head. "It's sort of a long story."

"All this time I wondered. I worried that Wolfgang might've beaten him to death or something horrible like that."

"No. But it might've been a close call. Grandma and I, months back, we broke into Wolfgang's house and stole Cadence from his bedroom. See, my grandma kind of has a sixth sense for animals. It's pretty confusing. And amazing, actually."

"Huh?" Helga retorted, her eyebrow raised again.

"Take him, Eugene," Arnold said more quietly. Cadence nuzzled his head calmly into Eugene's chest. Eugene felt more tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

"What?" he squeaked.

"We have plenty of animals at the boarding house, and Cadence is pretty shy around most of them. You found him when he needed help. I think he'd be happy, living with you."

"Cadence," Eugene whispered. "I like that name for you."

They were all quiet for a moment, watching as Cadence's eyes began to flutter closed.

"I've never told anyone what happened to me, you know. Not even Sheena, and she's my only real friend."

"We're your real friends, too," Helga said suddenly.

Arnold glanced at her for a moment. And then, with resolve that seemed to strengthen in light of her certainty, he nodded.

"We're here for you, Eugene. You don't have to suffer alone anymore."


	23. Feign a Thick Skin

**Author's Note** : Thank you so much to the guest reviewer, bg1 – and to EnvytheSkunk, Kryten, Nettie, Suzuka, Lisa Butterfield, and anyone else who reads and/or reviews this story. It feels like it's been forever since I've updated, but you guys have really given me the strength I needed to go on *holds hand dramatically to forehead*. Seriously though. I love you and I wish you all the very best.

* * *

23: Feign a Thick Skin and Then Split at the Sides

January froze into February, a swarm of blizzards, windstorms, and ice-covered streets. In spite of the incessant onslaught of cold, the girls' lacrosse team continued practicing outside, racing back and forth across the field, bundled up in coats and mittens. The winter seemed to drone on and on and on, rampaging in a whirlwind that ordinarily would have made Helga want to curl up in a ball and go back to bed. Instead, she devoted every spare inch of herself to the team. And it was odd, but living and breathing lacrosse, rather than depleting her energy, seemed to stock her with more of it. In between their frigid practice sessions, she somehow managed all her usual Friday night dinners with Phoebe, check-ins on Curly, and hours spent hanging around the boarding house while Arnold helped his dad readjust to his life at home.

"Alright, girls," Coach Tish told them on the first day of March. They were crowded around their usual bench in the locker room, reviewing plays on the whiteboard and wearing their freshly-delivered jerseys – real ones instead of pinnies, knit with their designated numbers in red embroidery. Helga had opted for lucky number nine, the number she'd been wearing that time in the fifth grade when she'd struck the ball straight into Wolfgang's forehead and their softball team had gone on to cream the league of sixth-graders.

"Our first game is two weeks away," Tish continued. "We're playing Charter Oaks."

"And we're gonna beat em to a pulp," Helga said firmly, looking to her co-captain and the rest of her teammates for support. They offered her a ring of screams before putting their sticks in toward the center of the bench, ending with their usual battle cheer.

* * *

"Think we could have French toast this morning?" Miles asked. His voice was soft and raspy as the flickering sun slanted in stripes across the wall.

Stella reached out and touched her palm to his cheek. "How about something healthier?"

He paused for a moment, mirroring her movements by tracing the lines on her face with his thumb. "Oatmeal?"

"Oatmeal," she agreed.

Stella had long summised herself to be a patient person. She had realized, though, that before Miles' heart attack, she was always finding reasons to be in a rush. Jumping out of bed in the morning, hurrying to get dressed for work. Make breakfast. Do the dishes.

Maybe she had just been caught up in her day-to-day movements - or maybe, she thought now, she had wanted to make up for lost time. Pack more into the days she had left. Make up for all those vanished in-between years, by fitting as much as she could into the rest of them, taking pictures and picking up markers of her passage like tokens along the way.

But it hadn't helped her make up for anything. And so, when she woke up against Miles' chest now, she took the time to lay there, breathing in his wood smoked, fire-pressed, warm-body scent.

And in his arms, the time didn't disappear. It grew, like dozens of microscopic florae in the San Lorenzan jungle, sweating and breeding and festering with the wet earth. It multiplied, like all of those purple butterflies waking from their slumber at last to flap their wings again, still alive.

* * *

"Can I get you something to eat, sweetheart?"

Eugene's father lingered in the doorway, scratching at the sparse copper-gray hair on his head. He looked nervous, as though trying to decide what to say next.

Eugene rolled over in his bed. "I have to get to school, Dad," he mumbled. His mouth felt like it was filled with cotton.

"You know your mother and I are here for you."

"I know." He managed a small smile.

"You can tell me anything."

Eugene hesitated for a moment. "Anything?" he asked.

His father nodded. The tiny orange cat curled up beside Eugene let out a curling little meow, stretching his paws out on the mattress as he awoke. It was a true blessing, Eugene felt, that his parents hadn't gotten angry about the sudden appearance of the creature at their house. They'd supported it instantly instead. _If it makes you happy_ , _you can have seven cats,_ his mom had said. But Cadence, of course, was the only one Eugene wanted or needed. The two of them had a special bond, and they relied on each other. It wasn't a lot, but right now, it was enough.

"You're a good boy," Eugene said softly, scratching behind Cadence's ears. "Such a good little boy. Dad, can I have a ride to school?"

"You bet," his father said, stumbling at the chance to offer something his son had asked for.

"Stay here," Eugene added in a whisper to his pet. "I'll be back later, I promise."

* * *

Spring came in cold, gusting winds, piles of muddy grass, and frost-ridden streets that would thaw very, very slowly.

The first lacrosse game of the year was on a Monday.

"You're going to be great, Helga," Phoebe told her on Sunday night. Her voice was filled with the confident conviction the tiny girl had managed to become so comfortable with over the past few years. Between the sudden spurts of warm pride Helga felt for her friend, she even thought she might believe her.

"Promise, Pheebs?" Helga asked. She was sprawled out over her bed, lulling herself to sleep to the sound of Phoebe's high-pitched timbre soothing her through speakerphone.

"Oh, yes. I couldn't be more certain of that."

* * *

"I ain't never read writin' as pretty as yours, Miss Lila."

Lila turned to face the tall boy across from her, her lips tugging at the corners with the smile she was trying to hold back. They were sitting cross-legged on her bedroom floor, surrounded by their notebooks, journals, and clumps of the dandelions and spring crocuses they'd collected in the rectangles of grass behind the high school. It was only her latest English essay that Stinky had read, but Lila couldn't help but feel that the compliment was authentic. Most everything Stinky said was authentic.

"Your writing is lovely too," she said quietly. "Just ever so lovely."

"Did ya figure out who yer new anonymous poet is, then?"

"Oh yes, Stinky. I did."

Stinky sat silently for a moment, scratching the back of his head with one hand and looking slightly embarrassed. "Reckon not all poems have to be fancy after all."

"No," Lila told him, inching closer to him. "I'm certain now that poems don't have to be anything. As long as they come from your heart."

Gently, she took his large, rough-skinned hands in her small ones. Inexplicably, the truth was this: in his presence, every desire to morph into someone she wasn't slipped away from her. She forgot why she had ever spent so much time wondering whether she was the nicest – the prettiest – the smartest. Around him, all of those things seemed so arbitrary, like little girl-dreams she had outgrown long ago. Miss Perfect went into hiding, and in the shadow of her grade A acting, there was only Lila Sawyer.

Lila Sawyer decided Stinky Peterson made her feel seen.

"Have you ever kissed anyone, Stinky?" she asked. She wasn't sure where the question had sprung from. Her face was so close to him that her breath seemed to swirl into his ear.

"N-no, Miss Lila. I ain't never had a girlfriend before."

"Well, I'm ever so certain you would be good at it. If I kissed you, you would probably figure out how to kiss me back right away."

He swallowed audibly. "Ya really think so?"

"Oh, yes."

"Ya promise?"

"Yes, Stinky. I promise."

"Okey dokey then."

She cupped the side of his face with her hand. And when he closed his eyes, her lips collided with his, expectant, patient, and happy.

* * *

Helga woke up the next morning with butterflies in her stomach. She was somewhere between wanting to jump out of bed and wanting to throw up the spaghetti she'd eaten the night before. It was nerve-wracking, but not entirely unpleasant.

The school day passed in a blur of classes and ticking clocks. She couldn't force herself to focus, too anxious for the end of the day, when they'd be on the field in front of an audience of – well, most likely no one at all, but still.

At last, the final bell rang, and the girls threw on their uniforms in the locker room, reciting one last cheer on the bench with their sticks pressed together.

The air was still biting cold, raw, earthy, and white-skied. Helga found herself staring as they made their way to the back field, where the Charter Oaks lacrosse players had already climbed out of their bus and started warming up, the bright blue stitching of their jerseys particularly dazzling against the backdrop of the dreary weather. It was only the sound of a familiar, crazed scream that finally drew her attention away from the opposing team.

"RIP THEIR HEADS OFF, HELGA!"

She looked out over the wind-bitten grass to see not just Curly, but her own personal cheering squad sitting on the bleachers. Stunned, Helga almost missed the sharp squeal of the starting whistle as she stared up, her mouth opening slightly with her impossible-to-conceal excitement. Phoebe, Arnold, and Gerald were sitting beside Curly, and had begun to join in with his enthusiastic screams, albeit not as loudly or as obnoxiously. In the row in front of them were Miriam and Olga, wrapped up in jackets and scarves. Beside them, Mina was giggling incessantly as she bunny-hopped from bleacher to bleacher. Helga watched as her niece tripped over a metal railing, nearly going flying if not for Arnold, who reached out with one hand and grabbed her before she could faceplant.

"EYES ON THE DAMN BALL, PATAKI!" Tish screamed. Mina's face had instantly contorted with sorrow, but Arnold coaxed her into his lap, offering what Helga could only assume were soothing words of comfort as the little girl threw her hands around his neck, allowing him to dry her tears with his coat sleeve. It took everything Helga had to snap her attention back to the field.

X

After the seventh time Helga flung the ball straight into mesh net, she lost count and began to lose herself instead to the focused flow of her strides up and down the field. An indescribable peace washed over her. It was a special mind space that she'd only ever found in the dirt-splattered, pure, unadulterated aggression of sports.

By the time the game ended, Helga could barely remember how it felt to be anything other than this: somehow both simultaneously calm and exhilarated. The referee blew his whistle, and the sparsely-populated bleachers and the Hillwood girls' lacrosse team erupted in cheers.

Hillwood had won twenty-eight to zero, thanks in no small part to Helga, who'd scored more than half of their goals. Her teammates began trickling off the field, slugging the water cooler and their sticks and goggles over their shoulders, laughing and cheering loudly.

"If you think this gives you permission to be late for practice tomorrow, screw your heads on straight!" Tish warned the girls. "Tomorrow you're on this field again, three P.M. sharp!"

Helga was standing frozen in place, staring, slightly dazed, as Arnold came wriggling through the gap in the chain link fence. He was carrying a still hyped-up Mina in his arms. The sky was beginning to swirl with inky pinks and blues as the two of them made their way out onto the field and towards Helga.

"Hi," Arnold told her. "Helga, you were... amazing."

"Aunty Elga run fast," Mina babbled happily. "Aunty Elga run, run, run."

"Mina was cheering for you the whole time."

Mina giggled loudly, wriggling around in Arnold's grasp in a plea for release. And at that very second, watching the way her love relinquished his hold over her niece and set her down on the muddy grass with all the gentle caution in the world, Helga felt like she could have cried.

"You okay?" Arnold asked, frowning slightly.

"What?" Helga blinked. "Oh - yeah. Just don't get any closer if you know what's good for ya, Football Head. I smell like an old sweaty gym sock."

"Pleasant."

They were quiet for a moment as they watched Mina tumble and trip across the field, unperturbed by the dark dirt stains she was getting all over her pink coat.

Arnold turned towards Helga, suddenly rubbing the back of his shoulder.

"Listen, Helga, I... I was just wondering if..." But he trailed off, the words seeming to dissipate on his tongue.

"Yeah?" she prompted him, trying her hardest not to sound too eager.

"Well, I was thinking we could - maybe we could do something, you know, non-homework-related to celebrate your first game, like get something to eat."

She stared at him, the butterflies in her stomach swarming into her throat.

"I mean, just as friends," he added hastily.

She swallowed. "Doi, I know. Just as friends."

"Gerald and Phoebe are going out for ice cream, I think. We could go with them. Curly can come, too." He looked up towards the bleachers, where their remaining friends were beginning to descend the metal steps unusually slowly. Phoebe caught her eye, smiling and offering her a casual thumbs-up as her eyes darted sideways from Arnold to Helga.

Helga turned towards Arnold again, praying she was doing a convincing job covering up her crushing disappointment. He had thrown her off balance again, and she hated it. She wished he would just make his intentions clear, or stop messing with her by asking her to hang out with him at all. But there was no way she could admit how tortured she felt by their renewed, fragile friendship without putting herself back in the exact situation she'd been in for years, and she sure as hell wasn't willing to do that.

In any case, her hesitant response was interrupted by a crashing sound from the bleachers. They whipped around again to see Miriam lying there in a heap, her purse flung open with its contents sprawled out all over the metal stands. Olga, standing beside the mess, was apparently distracted by a conversation she was having with Daphne's surprisingly handsome father.

"Mom!" Helga yelled. She rushed through the gate, climbed onto the bleachers, and began trying to help her mother to her feet. Beside them, Arnold had also run over and begun collecting the various items that had spilled from Miram's purse, gathering up her wallet, lipstick container, handfuls of spare change.

"Oops," Miriam said in a tinkling voice, brushing some of the dirt from her dress. "Now where did that last step come from?"

Helga huffed out an annoyed sigh. Of course, Olga chose that moment to remember why she was there in the first place and come swooping down on her like an eagle scoping out its prey, kissing both of Helga's cheeks before clasping her hands together and exclaiming, "Oh, baby sister! You were just wonderful."

"Yeah, thanks."

Olga looked out at the field, where Mina was now doing lopsided somersaults.

"Oh Marina, darling, you're getting all dirty!" Olga shrieked, and then sighed. "I better get her down for a rest. She missed naptime and she's simply exhausted." She paused to poke Helga on the nose, causing the younger girl to swipe at her disdainfully. "The game was fantastic, pumpkin. I'll see you at home for our family dinner later. I'm making an antipasto salad and _bouillabaisse_ simmered with fresh fennel."

"You were a beast, Helga!" Curly screamed behind them, echoed by Gerald and Phoebe's fervent statements of agreement.

"Here you go, Mrs. Pataki," Arnold said, handing Miriam her purse. Olga promptly rushed out onto the field, taking Mina in hand as they began the trek down towards the parking lot, where their BMW was no doubt lying in wait.

"Aren't you gonna go with Olga and Mina, Mom?" Helga asked her mother skeptically.

"What?" Miriam blinked, rubbing the bridge of her nose, where her glasses had slipped and poked her when she fell. "No, dear, they came straight from – now what's that called – Mommy and Me Pilates, I think. I met them here."

"Figures." She rolled her eyes as she turned towards her friends. "Listen, I'm gonna make sure my mom gets home, alright? You guys go have fun. I'll see ya tomorrow."

"You guys – okay to drive?" Arnold asked, glancing worriedly from Helga to her mother.

"We'll be fine," Helga snapped.

"Helga, honey, you can go with your friends if you want to," Miriam said. There was an almost pleading quality to her voice. But Helga shook her head and grabbed her by the arm. She dragged her to the lower parking lot, where she instantly spotted the space their silver minivan had been sloppily parked in. Tossing her mud-splattered stick into the back of the van and then cramming herself into the passenger's seat, she mentally thanked whatever gods might be listening that she would be sixteen in just a couple weeks' time. Then, at least, she could work on getting her driver's license and avoid this tomfoolery altogether.

Miriam fumbled to press her keys into the ignition, but Helga slapped her hand away. Fuming, she reached into her backpack and pulled out her water bottle, shoving it up to her mother's face. It was a silent demand for her to sober up before they drove anywhere, and Miriam drank from the bottle without any complaints.

"You're so athletic, honey," Miriam said finally, wiping her mouth with her hand. Was Helga just imagining that her voice was shaking slightly? She raised her eyebrow, watching her mother's knuckles whiten as they clenched at the steering wheel.

Helga released an impatient breath between her teeth. "Gee, thanks."

"I… I guess I knew you were athletic, but I didn't know you were so…. graceful."

"Excuse me?"

"No, no, I meant it in a good way, sweetheart. You look so good out there, on that big field. So… natural." Miriam drew in a wobbly gulp of air. Helga kicked her feet up against the dashboard. When Miriam tried to reach for her keys again, Helga snatched them away from her altogether.

"We're gonna wait half an hour," she said menacingly. "Unless you wanna just walk home and explain to Olga why we had to leave our car at the school."

"You shouldn't have lied to your sister," Miriam said suddenly. She sounded like she was pulling the words out from somewhere deep down and far away, with great effort. Helga glanced at her in surprise.

"I dunno what you're talking about."

"You do know, Helga. You've been telling your sister I've been doing a good job, and I… I'm not."

Helga shifted her gaze to the window. "Look, Miriam, you have no idea how many emotional breakdowns I've had to suffer through in the past month or two. I'm not in the mood to deal with this right now. Can't I just enjoy the aftereffects of whipping Charter Oaks' asses in peace for tonight? I mean, criminy."

Miriam hung her head. She covered her face with her hands, mumbling between her fingers. "I'm sorry. You deserve better than me."

Helga flinched.

"I know I'm not the mom you wanted. I think about it all the time. If I could go back and change it all, I… I would."

"How about just going back two hours and not sucking down whatever vodka and gin concoctions you thought it was a good idea to drown yourself in before coming to a high school lacrosse game?"

"I embarrassed you in front of your friends, didn't I?"

"Like that matters. I mean, let's face it, they already know you're a hopeless mess."

To her horror, her mother's eyes suddenly filled with tears.

"I didn't want Olga to excommunicate you from the family," Helga blurted out. "Cause it would basically mean the rest of us were out of the picture too. And I didn't want to stop seeing Mina, okay? And," she paused, rubbing at her elbow. "And besides, even though you're shitty a lot of times, and even though you're not the world's greatest parent, _I_ don't think you deserve to get cut off from your favorite daughter. I mean, the way I see it, Olga only has a couple years left before she resorts to alcoholism, too. Isn't that the way of all women who live in Pleasant Chester? One second you're a real person, the next you're a bleach blonde, eighty-pound housewife whose only solace in life is the nauseating martini mix she throws back every night."

"Olga is not my favorite daughter. I have two beautiful daughters. I love them equally."

"Real touching."

Miriam rubbed at her temples, staring down into her lap. "It was nice to see your boyfriend again. I'm glad you two are back together."

"What? No – we're not. We're just friends."

"Oh. Well, that's nice."

"Yes, it _is_ , Miriam," Helga snapped, folding her arms over her chest. "It's great. I mean, it's not like I'm in love with the boy and just pining away in the shadows like some sick loser while he moves on with his life. I'm not that pathetic anymore."

Miriam stared at her for a moment. "I know you're not." She paused. "You were never pathetic."

Helga slumped down in her seat.

"You are so special," her mom continued. "My strong, smart little girl. I just don't want you to forget... you deserve to be loved."

Helga chewed on her lower lip. As she did, her mother reached out and squeezed her on the arm.

"I know it's not easy for you," Miriam wiped at her eyes. "And the worst part is I know maybe that's my fault. Please just promise me you'll try to remember. I know how you hide yourself away from the world, and I wish you wouldn't."

Helga looked down at the timestamp on her cell phone.

"Twenty more minutes, Mom. And then we can drive home."


	24. Through This Haze

24: Through This Haze and These Storms of Doubt

It was eight A.M. on Saturday when Helga rapped impatiently at the door of the boarding house. Birds were chirping in the yellow sunrise; kids running up and down the sidewalks already in preparation for the first promisingly pretty weekend of the year. Sweat trickled down her thighs and the backs of her knees as she waited there, gulping in the spring air.

Arnold was still wearing pajamas when he appeared in the doorway, yawning and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Oh, hey, Helga," he said in surprise.

"I'm ready to communicate with you now."

He blinked. Helga began to fidget with her hands as the anxiety in her stomach bloomed.

"Huh?"

"I said I'm ready to communicate with you," she snapped. "Aren't you even listening?"

"What? I mean – okay – just – give me ten minutes." He began to run a hand somewhat feverishly through his hair. "Let me just get dressed and –"

"I don't have ten minutes. If you make me wait that long I'll lose my nerve and chicken out. Or vomit all over your cute little square of gentrified grass here. Probably both."

He considered her for a long, agonizing moment, seemingly deciding whether or not to take her seriously.

"Either get your butt out here or I'm leaving," Helga threatened.

Slowly, Arnold nodded. Glancing behind him, he closed the front door and stepped out onto the stoop, barefoot and shivering slightly in his boxers. The two of them sat down beside one another on the concrete.

Helga took a deep breath, staring at the rusting fire hydrant across the street rather than at him. She'd refused to allow herself to imagine how this conversation might go, knowing that if she did, one of two things would happen: she'd either conjure up enough humiliating rejection scenarios to scare herself into paralysis, or worse, succumb to sweet daydreams of the possibility of a happily ever after and find herself crushed once reality struck again. It was better to try not to expect anything at all, she'd decided. She just had to get it out there. Spit out the words, shed them like poison, or a molting skin, or a weight she'd been carrying inside of her. She could make a run for it afterwards, and if need be, she would.

"I never really wanted to break up with you," she mumbled. She could feel his gaze burning into her, but she kept hers determinedly on the hydrant across from them, her nausea mounting.

"Arnold, there's only one person in this entire Godforsaken, shittastic hellhole of a universe that I've ever wanted to be with, and it's you. It's you, okay? I've been tragically, pathetically, revoltingly in love with you since we were in preschool and I never stopped."

As if acting on instinct, Arnold reached over and squeezed her hand, but she pulled away from him.

"But I've also spent my whole life feeling kinda shitty about myself," she went on skittishly, trying to keep her voice from shaking. "And I know now it's not fair for me to blame that on you, or expect you to make everything better for me, cause you can't do that."

"I—"

"It's just, sometimes I used to think, some people, like Olga, and Lila, they're just born princesses from the start, and they go their whole lives like that, like they go their whole freaking lives just believing their fairy godmothers or some shit are looking out for them, and they know boys will fall all over them because they're so pretty and smart and kind, and they're used to that. And I actually kinda sorta like Lila now, but I thought, maybe that's what you wanted, you know, a girl who didn't act all messed up like me, someone who's all full of sunshine all the time and sickeningly sweet to everyone and junk like that."

"Well, I—"

"I don't know what you do or don't want, but I kept getting confused, and I know you're not a dishonest person, believe me, I know that, but the longer we were together, the more eaten up about everything I started to feel, cause you're kind of shit at communicating, too, sometimes. I mean, no offense, but you are. I really, really wanted to believe you liked me back, but you never told me in so many words, and aside from that the whole problem is you always have to go and be the nicest person in the whole freaking universe, to everyone, so where is that supposed to leave me, Arnold? How was I supposed to know whether you really wanted to be with me or just felt too bad about turning down a girl whose heart started bleeding all over you every time she opened her friggin mouth?"

"Helga, I –"

"I know I'm a real asshole sometimes. I really want to not be, but I am because my head always messes with me and sometimes I can't even tell what's real and what's not. I would get angry and j-jealous, and instead of trying to talk to you about it like a normal person I would just... be an asshole. That's entirely stupid, and I'm sorry for all the times you had to be at the receiving end of... me." She scratched anxiously at her arm.

He took a deep breath. "I know you are."

"I hope you know I never really wanted to hurt you or embarrass you. Even when we were little and I would do stupid shit like glue feathers to your butt or barrage you with spitballs, I wasn't trying to make your life miserable. I… I just wanted you to notice me."

To her surprise, Arnold let out a short laugh at this statement. Helga leapt to her feet, wounded.

"Okay, you know what, just screw this," she snarled. "I didn't come here and spill my guts to have you laugh at me."

"No, no, Helga, I'm sorry," he said, looking guilt-stricken as he tugged at her arm. Resentfully, she sat back down. "I didn't mean to laugh, I just – I was thinking about all those spitballs you used to throw at me," he recounted nostalgically. "Sometimes I'd come home and more and more of them that I hadn't even noticed would start falling out of the back of my shirt, and one time I took a shower and–"

"You're missing the point."

"You have never made my life miserable, Helga Pataki."

Her heart skipped a beat. "I haven't?"

"No, you haven't. Not when we were little, and not now. And you shouldn't feel like you need to be full of sunshine all the time. If were, then... you wouldn't be you. And who you are is enough. It's more than enough. Because, well, there's no one like you, Helga."

She swallowed.

"You're special, as a person, and you're special to me. And maybe - maybe I haven't always been good at telling you that, and I'm sorry." He rubbed the back of his shoulder with one hand. "You were always great at putting things like that into words. It's just… it didn't always feel easy for me." He was giving her that fixated, thoughtful gaze that sent goosebumps prickling down her arms. "I felt overwhelmed sometimes. Just - I didn't even know what it meant to be in a relationship with someone, and then all of a sudden, we were in one. I felt sometimes like I was just wandering around in the dark. Like I didn't even know how to, you know, get through puberty, let alone how to be a good boyfriend."

Helga chewed on her lower lip. "Well, I didn't either, obviously. Know how to be a good girlfriend, I mean."

"We were both doing our best at the time," Arnold reasoned. "We were only little kids at the beginning. And even if maybe it was dysfunctional sometimes, I wouldn't trade it for anything."

She felt her face heat up. "Neither would I."

She began to shuffle her hands again uncomfortably. In the increasingly bright sunlight, she could see his eyes swelling with something she still didn't know how to interpret.

"Do you think… if you want to… do you think we could have another chance?" he asked finally.

"Yes," she said immediately. "If you do, I mean. Then I do, too."

"I do, too," he echoed firmly, sending her heart thrashing around in her chest at full speed. He paused. "But if we're going to make this work this time, I think we have to do things differently."

"Differently how?"

"Differently like, we're going to talk about stuff this time. Stuff like – when you're upset or angry or feeling bad about yourself. You have to promise that you're going to tell me, Helga. I care about you so much, but I'm not a mind reader."

She studied her dilapidated fingernails. "Okay," she conceded. "That sounds fair. But you have to promise the same thing. You're gonna talk to me, about your feelings and stuff. I mean, your real feelings, about me, and everything, no matter what. Even if you're afraid of hurting me or even if you're not sure. You have to be as honest as you can be, or we're going to end up even worse than before."

His green eyes flickered as he stared at her. Her stomach flipped over again. "I will. Of course I will."

"And other terms and conditions will apply, too," she added hastily. "The no PDA rule is still a given. And don't think you can pull off any of that mushy bullshit either, like giving me flowers for no reason or sticking love notes in my backpack. You know I hate that stuff."

"I know."

"Chocolate's okay, though. Any kind of food is okay. Just as long as it's not some gross health food."

"Got it." He was smirking at her now. Helga felt like she might melt on the spot.

"Anything else you wanna add?"

Arnold shook his head. "I think you just about covered it."

"So… are you saying we have ourselves a deal?"

"Deal," he agreed.

She spit ceremoniously into her hand and held it out for him to shake.

Arnold stared at her outstretched palm, his face filling with incredulity. "Really? We're going to shake hands?"

"You said _deal_ , Arnoldo."

Rolling his eyes, he took her hand and shook it, but his expression soon transformed into something much more hesitant. "So... do you… think it would be okay if I kissed you now?"

She managed what she hoped sounded like a casual chuckle. "Well, that depends, Football Head. Is anyone watching?"

He looked left, then right. "I don't think so."

"I guess you have your answer."

And she squeezed her eyes shut as he wrapped his arms around her waist and brought his lips to hers.

* * *

It had been an awkward and emotionally painful month and a half, and Rhonda hadn't so much as broached the subject of Samuel with Connie. She felt fairly sure, however, that the boy she'd been so enamored of had spilled every last detail to the pretty blonde. She could just tell, by the way Connie glanced at her sometimes, catching her eye with some semblance of both guilt and curiosity in her expression.

"It's so gross how some people think it's okay to wear dresses even with their fat thighs bulging out all over the place. Can you _please_ look across the cafeteria?"

"Ew, no," Connie retorted in response to Kelly's command. But she looked anyway, and snickered at the sight. Rhonda followed the girls' gaze to the table several meters away from them, where a slightly overweight girl she'd never met before was sitting, indeed wearing a mini-dress that rode rather high up her legs. The girl was also eating what appeared to be a foot-long subway sandwich, Rhonda noted. The observation might ordinarily have prompted her to grimace in disgust, but lately, she'd been feeling less and less inclined to chime in with the brutalization of other girls. She offered nothing to the conversation, choosing to focus instead on twirling her fork around in her own California salad.

"You got the math homework for me to copy?" Emily asked Rhonda, looking hopefully across the table while Rhonda sighed and reached into her bag. She did, in fact, have the math homework, an assignment Lorenzo had stayed up until one A.M. helping her with.

"Code red," Kelly interrupted. "The human rat nest is getting off the lunch line."

Rhonda looked over to where she was pointing to see none other than Nadine, scanning the crowd for a table to sit at with her tray of food in hand. Rhonda felt rage begin to boil in her blood.

"That hair," Kelly lamented again. "Does she know what a brush is?"

"Don't talk about my friend that way," Rhonda heard herself say coolly before she could stop herself. Kelly looked up, raising her eyebrows with an almost amused expression painted across her features, her lips quirking upwards. Rhonda barely restrained the urge to smack her.

"Sorry, Rhonda, but your friend needs to learn the meaning of _shampoo_ and _condition_."

Rhonda's fingers curled up into fists. But it was Connie who interjected suddenly.

"Rhonda _said_ Nadine is her friend." Connie's voice was quiet and even-toned. Rhonda glanced up, meeting her clear blue eyes. "And besides, I think her hair is pretty like that. It's a natural look."

There was a pause, a fraction of a second during which the two girls continued to stare at one another.

"Thank you, Connie," Rhonda said finally. She rose slowly from her seat. "Nadine has always had a very avant-garde sense of style, if you ask me. Now if you'll excuse me, ladies, I'm going to say hi to her."

She waved gracefully at Connie. Then she brought her bowl of salad over to the table Nadine was headed for, grinding her teeth nervously.

"Rhonda," Nadine said, looking slightly surprised as she peered over at the place Rhonda had left behind.

"Hi, Nadine. I was hoping I could eat lunch with you. If it's okay with you."

There was a short pause. Then, mercifully, a smile that lit up Nadine's face as she sat down and began jamming her straw into the carton of chocolate milk on her tray. With any luck, Rhonda thought, there would be stories about grasshoppers and camouflage stick insects to follow.

* * *

"You should have told me earlier, Eugene," Sheena said fiercely. He'd expected tears, truthfully. She was terrified of violence of any kind, certainly not barring the human-to-human variety. But she wasn't crying. She wasn't even shaking or trembling.

"I know, and I wish I had. I know you would've helped me."

"I would've helped you seven months ago, and I'm going to help you now."

"How?"

"However you want me to."

He managed a smile, small but genuine, as he reached out and covered her hand with his.

* * *

Miriam Pataki was in the kitchen, trying to make a cake. She didn't seem to have much hope that it would go the right way. Martha Stewart made it look so easy, Arnold guessed, with her chocolate-fudge-Oreo mix, two hundred and fifty layers, and accompanying ruffle icing. But the glossy photos in the magazine had only translated into a mound of something that looked more rubber than homemade dessert, and a counter covered in flour and eggshells. A blender containing the remnants of spiked smoothie sat in the sink; Miriam had all but already downed its contents.

Her family hadn't yet acknowledged her efforts. Big Bob was sitting on the couch in the living room with remote in hand, eyes locked on the flickering light of the TV screen. He'd always liked to mock the people in suits on the news, Arnold remembered, burping and yelling "For crying out loud!" every time they smiled and said _Back to you, Sandy_ as they lamented the latest serial killer or pedophile on the loose.

A burst of rain-laced light streamed in through the open window, carrying a tiny breath of relief in the humid kitchen. Miriam jammed the last of the contents of an icing container onto her confection and turned to the two teenagers sitting at the kitchen table.

"Okay, sweetie, what do you think?"

"What the hell is that, Miriam?" Helga asked, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms defiantly over her chest.

"It's your pre-birthday birthday cake," Miriam told her. "Two hundred and fifty layers."

Helga's gaze flitted towards her mom's hopeful face, but her own expression remained stony. "I guess this is what happens when Olga's off gallivanting with the greats in Sweden instead of home working her magic, huh?" she retorted, eyebrow raised.

"Well... I tried," Miriam replied helplessly. She wiped her flour-coated hands on her dress. "Olga's going to be home tomorrow for your actual birthday, honey. And then she'll make you her own cake."

From the living room, they could hear a furious guest speaker on the five-thirty segment, demanding that the president take steps to euthanize the homeless.

"Finally!" Bob shouted triumphantly at the screen. "Someone on this nut job channel who's got some sense in him!"

"B!" Miriam called out. "Aren't you coming in to celebrate?" Her voice was hardly loud enough to drown out the TV.

"What?" Bob screamed back. "Oh, yeah yeah. Fine."

"I'll get some plates," Miriam said. "You'll stay and eat with us, won't you, Alfie?"

"Of course, Mrs. Pataki," he told her, smiling warmly.

"We don't want to eat that mess, Mom," Helga snarled at her. "You can eat it."

But Bob was already wandering lazily into the kitchen, stretching, and Miriam brightened just a little.

"What's this?" he demanded, the expression on his face much like his younger daughter's. Arnold sometimes thought he and Helga were mirror images of one another, although he would never, not unless he wanted his bones pounded to dust, say that out loud.

"Helga's birthday eve cake," Miriam told him, the smoothie giving her voice a wobbly edge. "We have to enjoy every second of this. She's only going to turn sixteen once."

"Oh," Bob raised his eyebrow, scratching at his head. "Gee, you know, this is really... a lot, Miriam. But if it means something to the girl, then…"

"Helga loves chocolate cake," Arnold piped up suddenly, against his better judgement, and in spite of the heated glare Helga sent his way. Bob looked at him, raising his large eyebrow. Then he nodded slightly.

Helga mimed vomiting into her hands. "Thanks a lot, everyone, for your all too _sweet_ messages of support, but I'm blowing this popsicle stand," she announced, chair scraping against the tiles as she stood up.

Without even thinking about it, Arnold reached over and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Come on, Helga. Your mom made this special pre-birthday birthday cake for you. Let's just stay for a little bit."

And he couldn't help his smile at the flush that crept up her neck and around her ears, her pulse quickening at his touch. She scowled grudgingly.

"Fine. But if we get food poisoning from this crap, I blame you, Arnoldo." She offered her mother a sideways glance. "Thank you for your efforts, Miriam."

Then she sat down again, rolling her eyes, and Arnold didn't let go of her hand the whole time Miriam cut the cake into thick, crumbling slices.

* * *

 **Author's Note** :

I rewrote that first scene with Helga and Arnold, like, 30 times. I'd venture to say that I enjoy writing things that are emotionally angsty, but I'm not so good with writing straight up romantic and/or happy.

In any case, you guys, I'm planning for the next chapter to be the last one. I appreciate your feedback so much, I hope you're doing well, and I hope you have a wonderful week!


	25. Bring Hope When You Come Around

sometimes i ask myself

what is it going to take for me not to be afraid?

to be loved the way i really wanna be loved?

you know, it's like you want something

but you don't know if you can handle it

you give me hope that maybe one day i'll get over my fears

and i'll receive.

-Blood Orange (Dev Hynes)

* * *

 **Author's Note/Disclaimer:**

Well… after more than nine months of working on this story, this is the last chapter. I actually stuck with a project for more than a week, y'all. That's a thing I didn't expect my scatterbrained self to actually accomplish. While it's impossible for me to step back and view the whole thing from anyone's perspective other than my own, and while I definitely feel that it's awkwardly paced and likely unnecessarily drama-laden in places (due to my stubbornness in wanting to stick to the plot as I initially outlined it), it's been a learning experience for me. Your reviews and thoughts about how it turned out are more appreciated than you know.

A random side comment – you will note that Helga keeps her unibrow in this story, not because I have anything against women (or anyone, for that matter) doing whatever they want to feel good about their appearances, but because Craig said several times that she'd decide she likes it and wants to keep it when she gets older. And I really love the idea of Helga being like, "You know what, eff what other people think. I don't have to look like everyone else to be beautiful." I personally find that more poignant and endearing than the trope of Ugly-Duckling-Grows-Up-And-Gets-A-Makeover-And-Transforms-Into-Stunning-Show-Stopper.

Hey Arnold belongs to the amazing, creative, charismatic Craig Bartlett, not to me. You guys are extremely cool for loving a great cartoon enough to read fanfiction centered on it. I mean, truly, I wish I knew you in real life. I wish you the very best of everything in the whole world.

25: Bring Hope When You Come Around

X

"Dr. Bliss?"

P.S. 118's school counselor glanced up from her mug of tea. Her coworker, the new administrative secretary, was standing in the doorway again. He'd popped up in her office too many times to count over the past several weeks, usually to ask questions he was too nervous to bring to Principal Wartz.

"How can I help you?" she asked kindly.

"There's a visitor here for you. No appointment."

"Oh." She looked at her watch. "A student? Billy Jensen is due to arrive in twenty minutes."

"Not a student anymore. A former one – she looks about high school age. Said she just wanted to stop by and say hi. Should I tell her to come back a different day?"

"No, no. Please tell her she can come right in."

The secretary disappeared down the hallway.

For a split second, Dr. Bliss blinked at the young woman who took his place moments later. The last time she'd seen the blonde teenager, nearly two years before, she had still been in her most awkward stage of adolescence: all gangly limbs, angry scowls, and stubborn pigtails. The girl waiting for her now was long-legged and curvy, with hair flowing past her shoulders. The unibrow and large nose and ears remained the same.

"Helga," Dr. Bliss said calmly. "I was starting to think I'd never see you again."

Helga fumbled with her hands. "I know – and sorry it took me so long. I wanted to visit earlier. Just, life and stuff. I got a little distracted."

"The important thing is that you're doing well."

"I think I am. I mean, for me."

Dr. Bliss thought for a second. "You must be almost done with… sophomore year now." How surreal; how quickly the time went.

"Yeah, almost done with that bullshit. Thank Jesus."

"And did you enjoy it?"

"No." Helga grimaced. "But I'm the co-captain of the lacrosse team and stuff. So there's that."

"That sounds perfect for you. Any special plans for the summer?"

"Nah. Well, I got my job at Slausen's back. I worked there last summer, too. Ole Bill can't resist my charms. He's a nice guy, when he's not being dumb and sexist."

"Yes, he is, isn't he? Good ice cream, too."

"Mm hmm."

"And it's always nice to make a little extra money."

"You got that right." She paused. "How are your little patients doing, and stuff? Did you have lots of crazies this year?"

"We're all doing very well, Helga."

"Good." Helga began to chew on her lower lip. "Well, listen, what I really wanted to say is… thanks for everything you did for me. Most people are full of crap, but you're not. I'm really glad you exist."

Dr. Bliss didn't bother to bite back her smile. "Thank you. I'm glad that you exist, too."

"And can you do me a favor and tell Mr. Simmons I said hi? Next time you see him?"

"I certainly will. Mr. Simmons will be happy to hear about you."

Helga hesitated for a moment. Then, seeming to make an important decision in her mind, she strode forward and threw her arms around the older woman.

This was what made her job worth it, Dr. Bliss thought. Moments like these. And she didn't think twice before she wrapped her own arms around the teenager and hugged her back.

* * *

They sat on the striped carpet in Sheena's room, cross-legged among a littering of magazines, glue sticks, and scissors. Sheena held a panting Ann Austin in her arms. She patted the sweet Beagle on the head to keep her from chewing every bit of paper she could get her large, gummy mouth on.

"What do you think of him, Eugene?" Sheena asked, holding up a copy of Teen Vogue for him to consider. The ad on the page featured a very handsome model, who was posing sexily with a bottle of cologne.

"Gorgeous."

"He is, isn't he? Ooh, and look at this guy." She pulled up another glossy photo, this one showcasing a half-naked hottie leaning over the edge of a surfboard.

"I like it," Eugene said approvingly. The two of them set to work cutting out the images for his new corkboard. The plan was to plaster every wall in his bedroom with them: men in bathing suits, men on beaches, men wearing smiles and smirks and fashionable marled fedoras. With the photos on display, inspiring him every morning, he'd be celebrating not only their shiny, lovely bodies, but himself.

"Can I get you two some snacks?" came a familiar soothing voice. Sheena's mother appeared in the doorway, adjusting her flower crown. "I made homemade gluten-free biscuits."

"Oh, yes," Eugene said. "Gosh, that sounds wonderful."

She came towards them with her tray full of sweet-smelling biscuits and organic juice boxes - the carrot-flavored pouches, the ones they'd loved as little kids. The sight of them filled Eugene with comfort. Plus, the biscuits, soft and pillowy, tasted like clouds in his mouth. As he swallowed, he felt both Sheena and her mother's fervent stares on him.

"Did you decide what you want to do yet?" Sheena squeaked in her sturdy, high-pitched voice.

Eugene straightened his arms, steeling himself. In the pocket of his jeans, he could feel the folded-up pamphlets Arnold and Helga had surreptitiously given him the day before. Helga had snagged them from an AA meeting, she'd explained, but they weren't just resources on dealing with alcoholism. They contained hotline numbers - website links - crisis centers, for dealing with everything from rape to cyberbullying to abusive parents.

"I want to report him, Sheena," he said finally. Whether or not anyone would listen to him, he couldn't know for sure. But he did know, at the very least, that he wanted to hear his own voice.

* * *

They were slow. Not nerdy, but awkward. Not confused, but sometimes, still, afraid.

They didn't trade kisses and hold hands in the hallway, like Phoebe and Gerald did. They weren't highlighter-noisy, like that football player Samuel and his new blonde cheerleader girlfriend, who'd recently taken to excessive, gaudy displays of make out sessions and rose-giving in the middle of the Hillwood hallways (poor Rhondaloid, Helga actually found herself thinking).

He never serenaded her with music or greeted her with flowers between his teeth, like the guys in those soaps Big Bob still liked to watch at one A.M.

But what he did do was bring bottles of Gatorade, only the blue ones, her favorite flavor, for her to drink at practice. What he did do was stay late at the school library, so he could leave just in time to walk home with her on days when she had games. And what she did was wait for him - on the stoop of the boarding house, at his bedroom skylight, on the bus with her locket tucked securely in her bra strap underneath her T-shirt.

She'd never been good at being patient. But for him, she'd promised she would try harder. And with every bone in her body, every ray of hope in her heart, she did.

* * *

"I'm getting cooked out here, Football Head. Aren't you gonna be a gentleman and buy me a drink or something?"

Helga was panting as she walked, pushing locks of hair away from her sweat-plastered skin. She could feel the baking asphalt through the bottoms of her flimsy sandals and cursed herself (once again) for not wearing sneakers. What was she thinking, anyway? Wearing sandals to _Dino_ Land just because they matched her sundress? Man, she was turning into a real throw pillow.

"I'll buy you whatever you want," Arnold told her.

She tugged on his thumb, leading him aggressively through the throngs of people because she knew if she didn't pull him, she'd end up ten yards ahead of him while he meandered along in an attempt to avoid the prospect of pushing anyone. And you couldn't get around at an amusement park if you were going to just not push anyone. That just wasn't how that worked.

They passed the whizzing dino egg cups and their favorite roller coaster, the one with three upside down turns. The lines at the concession stand snaked all the way down towards the bathroom. But they waited anyway, bodies almost touching, sticky in the swollen heat.

"I want a sugar cone with three scoops of chocolate ice cream… and a jumbo lemonade. And an extra-large popcorn with butter," she added, after taking a moment to think.

"Okay," Arnold told her as he pulled out his wallet.

Helga blinked. "That's it? Okay?"

"Yeah."

"So you're just gonna blow twenty bucks or something on a bunch of overpriced junk food for me?"

"Well, the coin slots on the washing machine in the boarding house broke. I haven't had to pay for laundry in a couple weeks. And I _am_ going to be working at the animal shelter this summer."

" _And_?"

"And so I have enough money. I mean, at least enough to buy you junk food."

She stared at him, her heart full to bursting. They were moving closer towards the red-and-white striped umbrella, where the boy at the metal counter waited to take their order.

"One chocolate ice cream cone with three scoops, one—" Arnold began, but Helga cut him off in a hurry.

"I changed my mind. Just the ice cream'll be good."

He shrugged and she watched while he counted his bills out, steady and meticulous. She made a mental promise to buy him dinner, all of it, not just half.

Arnold thanked the boy as he handed over the dessert, and they headed to a bench, where they sat getting sunburnt and licking the cone one after the other, the ice cream melting in sticky puddles down their palms.

"I fink we should go ta the movies next weekend," Helga told Arnold over a large sugary mouthful. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand. "In the freaking air conditioning. Plus, I never got to see that latest Evil Twin movie, what with your dad's heart attack interrupting everything and all. It's supposed to be really good. A lot of people get their heads chopped off."

"Yeah, it sounds good," he said, and when he took another lick of ice cream, some of the chocolate stuck to his mouth.

Her heart pounded as she stared at him, eyes bearing like lasers into his lopsided, sultry lips until she couldn't stand it anymore. Without thinking, she leaned over to put both hands on his shoulders, pressing her own mouth against his, softly, just enough to graze the dusting of ice cream under his nose. It was quick; only seconds before she pulled away in embarrassment. But he dropped the end of the cone into the gravel in surprise, anyway.

"What happened to no public displays of affection?"

"I forgot," she mumbled lamely, and flinched. "Sorry."

Awkwardly, he reached over, picked up the fallen cone and walked it to the garbage can beside them.

When he returned, his fingertips grazed her shoulder, and the corners of his mouth quirked upward, slightly, gently, beckoning her to stand up. He kissed her back, only for a moment. And she wasn't sure, but she thought, maybe, that was his way of letting her know it was okay.

* * *

When they returned to the boarding house, he closed the door to his bedroom. They couldn't hear anything except for vaguely muted clatter - the assorted bangs of Mr. Potts drilling anchors in the walls, and his parents laughing through the vents, and Grandpa telling some version of a story that began and ended with more and more baseless details.

He pressed the button on the remote to his stereo system. The room flooded with trombone-soaked jazz and she looked up from where she was sprawled out on his couch to face him, her humid blue eyes heavy with longing. He couldn't help it; his arms erupted in goosebumps.

"Is it cool enough in here?" he asked her.

She nodded. "Yup," she told him. Her voice was halting and higher than usual.

"Good," Arnold told her. The birthmark on her shoulder blade, shaped like the number seven, stretched across her pale skin when her arms moved. She was wearing that sundress, the strapless one, the one that showed the expanse of her whole back.

"Do you want anything else, Helga? Some water?"

"What? It's hard to hear you over this dorky music."

"You want me to turn it off?" he suggested, but she shook her head. "I asked if you wanted anything else."

"No," she told him, and then added under her breath, "Just you."

Her mouth landed on his, warm and quivering. He ran his fingers through the soft strands of her sunshine hair, pulling her closer and closer until her body was flush against his. And after a few moments, he wasn't sure, but he thought he heard her moan, so soft and barely audible it made him shake, just slightly.

"Helga," he said, but she was all the way on top of him now, fingers digging into the sides of his thighs. She was melting into him and he was kissing her back, trying to match her fervor as her hands moved up and she pushed down hard on his chest.

"You look so pretty," he mumbled, because she did. She looked totally beautiful, her hair splayed out now and falling out of its ponytail and sweat lining her upper lip as her breath came out in short, punctuated gulps. He wished he could say it better, - he couldn't, didn't know how. He wasn't good at stringing romantic words together in intricate patterns, not the way she was. "Are you sure this is what you want?" he asked instead.

Helga nodded. "I'm ready," she told him. His heart pooled up in his throat.

* * *

Sweat was collecting in beads on Eugene's skin as he made his way towards the front steps of Hillwood High. He knew what he had to do: go straight to the principal's office, present his case, walk out. If he made any pit stops along the way, he'd surely lose his guts and save the trip for another day. If saved the trip for another day, that day might very likely never come.

He steeled himself, imagining Sheena's hand squeezing his shoulder. He was only a few feet from the building when he heard a loud voice yelling out in the alleyway directly behind him.

As usual, bad luck was following Eugene Horowitz everywhere.

"Did I or did I not tell you to get your FUCKING act together!"

"Dad, I know," came a familiar reply, only it didn't have nearly the same thundering quality to it that it usually did.

"You fumbled that pass big time, Wolfgang!"

"I know. I won't do it again."

"You _won't do it again,_ " Wolfgang Walker's father repeated mockingly.

"It was one practice, okay? What am I, a –"

"You're an idiot, that's what! A God damn idiot! You're a humiliation to this family and a pussy. One more screw up like this and I'll kick your ass out of my house. You think I'm kidding? You wait and see. You can live on the streets for all I care."

Eugene winced as he finally craned his neck around to stare at the bottle-blonde teenager he knew was there. There were another few moments of screamed curse words, and then, s white Lexus zoomed away, tires screeching on the hot asphalt.

In that moment, Eugene suddenly felt that he was seeing more clearly than he had in nearly a year. He sucked in a deep breath,feeling as though he'd just been sucker punched in the stomach. He held a hand to his forehead for a moment, trying to get the air back into his lungs.

Then he continued walking, to the stairs of the high school, through the football hallway, and towards the doorway to the principal's office.

* * *

Back when Arnold was little, Grandma used to sit with him in the small patch of grass beside the boarding house, encircled by a metal chain link fence that separated it from the building next door. Here, she enlisted his help in tending to her garden.

It had really always been more of a rectangle of dust than anything else. Year after year, they tried planting packets of seeds to grow: marigolds, daffodils, black-eyed susans. Gloriosa daisies and beardtongues and peonies, which, Grandma remarked cheerfully, would be splendid to look out at from the window in the kitchen.

But year after year, nothing ever bloomed. No matter how many times they came out diligently with their plastic watering cans and shovels, the patch remained empty. Maybe it was the polluted city air, or more likely, the positioning of the tiny spot, which was shaded by too many buildings to see a proper amount of sunlight.

Still, Grandma refused to give up on her project.

"Keep showing love to them and they'll open one day, Kimba," she promised him, face covered in mud as she bent down over the few stems, all of them with hard little buds that merely fell into the earth rather than blossoming. "They're hurting right now, all covered up in that dirt. That's why they need you. Because you're special – you're not going to give up on them. You'll keep loving them enough so they can open up and bloom one day."

At ages four and five and six, Arnold already knew better than to take everything his grandmother said at face value. But this job was something he clung to. When he lay in bed at night, covered up in his planet-patterned quilts and ensnared in the loneliness of missing his parents, he thought about his important duty. How nice it would be, when his mom and dad finally came home to see the garden all full of flowers. When kids, like his longtime school tormentor - the girl who couldn't seem to leave him alone - were mean to him, he focused very carefully on what his grandma had said. He was special. He wasn't going to give up on anyone.

It helped him remember his strength, his kindness.

Because people, like plants, were not to be abandoned, he decided. Sometimes they just needed more. More love, more light, more helpers with watering cans to tend to them. Then, when the time was right, they would fold open one day. And when that happened, he would be right there, ready to help them face the sun.

* * *

They stopped at Bagel World on their way home from school, where they sold everything: sandwiches, cookies with rainbow sprinkles, packages of Haribo gummy bears and bacon-wrapped bagels. There was barely an inch of breathing space in the packed little shop.

"Who are those games _for_ , anyway?" Helga snorted, nodding at the stacks of dusty cardboard boxes lining the shelves below the glass display cases of cream cheeses. "Like anyone's gonna sit there and play Monopoly while they wait for their bagel to be toasted?"

"Actually, I think board games are rather fun, Helga," Phoebe quipped. "I'd certainly play Monopoly here."

And so it was that they placed their orders and sat down at one of the little wooden tables, covering it in a mosaic of the ancient plastic pieces and cards. Arnold was the thimble - Helga the iron - Gerald the car - Phoebe the shoe. Curly sank into the corner, hands trembling slightly. His presence in their group remained awkward, riddled with a sense of unbelonging.

"C'mon, Curly Q." Helga nudged him. "No watching allowed. You gotta pick a piece."

"This set is missing the battleship. I can _only_ play if I'm the battleship."

She glared at him.

"I'll be the horse," he conceded finally in a small voice. "It's almost as powerful."

And apparently it was, because inside of an hour Curly was laughing maniacally as he swept up hundreds of thousands in winnings. After the game had finished, Phoebe and Gerald left together, hand in hand as Phoebe chattered incessantly about the homework they had to do.

"I should get home, too," Curly mumbled.

"Is your mom doing okay?" Arnold asked.

"Oh, yeah. Better than ever, now that it's just the two of us."

He offered a half-hearted smile. Helga squeezed Curly's shoulder. "Text me if you need anything, bud." And with that, her dark-haired, manic friend had set off down the sidewalk. Arnold and Helga trailed behind him by several meters after they'd collected their backpacks.

"I can't wait one stinkin second longer for our freedom," she mused. "This'll be the longest five days of my life."

"I know," Arnold returned, laughing, as they made their way across the street. Neither of them noticed themselves falling into stride with one another, their feet landing again and again in exactly the same rhythm. "Your mom thinking about going to that AA meeting again tomorrow?"

"Who knows?" she remarked flippantly. She paused. "But she did give me her credit card. Plus all the cash in her wallet."

"That sounds… drastic."

"Yeah, but if she can't buy anything then that includes alcohol, too. The only thing is that I gotta get home later to escort her to the grocery store. Now that I'm the holder of the dough, I have to be there for any and all shopping."

"Well, that works out," Arnold told her. It was a slightly cooler evening than the one before, filled with gold-lidded trees and sidewalks soaked with water leftover from a kid's sprinkler party. The buildings across from them glowed in the setting orange sun. There was one week left till the end of the school year, and both of them could feel it in their bones. The summer, the whole luscious, heady summer, lay just ahead of them.

"Grandpa's taking us fishing later," he explained further, and then clarified, his voice cracking slightly, "My grandpa and my dad."

"I hope you catch yourself a good one, my love."

"Thank you. I love you, too."

It didn't make much sense. But at that moment, Helga couldn't have felt happy if she tried. What she did feel was her adrenaline pumping, heart speeding with the terrible urge to run away and hide under a rock. All she could do was stand there, panicked, frozen in place.

"Hey," Arnold whispered then, his soft voice tearing through her fear. The warmth on her shoulder brought her back to herself for a second. She looked down at the fingertips that brushed gently against her skin. "It's gonna be okay, Helga."

And honestly, she wasn't sure how he could know that, since she'd offered no words, and since even she didn't get it. But standing there, staring at the football-headed face full of understanding beside her, she made the decision to believe him, anyway.

And in the disappearing evening light, her head found his chest. She buried herself there for a minute, breathing in his sweet soapy smell.

Then he reached for her hand, and this time, she took it.


End file.
